


Never Let You Go

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 64,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9425909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Peeta Mellark has just moved to a small town in Michigan where Katniss Everdeen has grown up her entire life. They meet during the summer before senior year, thanks to an unlikely situation where their lives overlap for the very first time. In school, Katniss is a popular athlete with a wide circle of friends, so when she and the new kid take an interest in each other, it throws everyone for a loop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO EVERYONE!!! I know I've been silent on the Everlark fic world for a good while now. This is my new baby that I've been working on for quite some time, hence the silence. I'm not quite finished with it yet - and it's unlike me to start posting before I'm completely done - but I have good reason. I know exactly how I want it to go, but the motivation to get there is not happening for me. So I figured by posting what I do have (which is a very large chunk) and getting feedback from you all, it'll give me the push I need to finish this monster. 
> 
> I'm so excited to introduce you guys to the new world for Everlark that I've created. I've based it in the town where I grew up, though all the names are of course changed. It's a little different than what I've read before where it's based in Panem, but I hope you guys will like it anyway. You know how I feel about the intimacy of knowing location with my stories. It's very important to me! So I did the best I could with this one. 
> 
> With all that said, enjoy Never Let You Go. :)

**KATNISS**

On the first official day of summer, I wake up and the sheets beneath me are drenched and I can hear my little sister blasting the _Hannah Montana Movie_ soundtrack in the room next to mine. The movie is seven years old, which means she was only 1 when it came out, but she doesn’t care. The song  _Let’s Get Crazy_ is playing so loud that I can feel the poppy bass inside my veins.

I pound on the wall and screw my eyes shut tight. “Shut _up_!” I shout, dragging the words out for much longer than necessary. “I’m trying to fucking sleep.”

“Telling Dad you swore!” she calls out over the music, and I pull my covers up over my head. It’s not as easy as I hoped to fall back to sleep because of how much I’ve sweated overnight; there’s no air conditioning to speak of in this house.

“Shut up,” I groan again, and the song switches to _Hoedown Throwdown_. “I swear to god, I’m going to…” I mutter under my breath, and then throw my covers away and storm up from my bed. In just my underwear and cami, I stomp the four steps between our bedroom doors and throw hers open.

She lets out a small shriek, but her face is gleeful. “Turn it _down_ ,” I growl, and stalk over to her stereo that had once been mine before I got a used iPhone. Prim is only eight, she doesn’t even have an iPod yet and she probably won’t for a long time. We don’t have that kind of money to throw around. “It’s the first day of summer. I’m trying to sleep in.”

“It’s past lunch,” she informs me, standing up from her bed. She’s dressed in a full hand-me-down outfit; jean shorts and a faded striped shirt with a chest pocket. I had worn those clothes six years prior. “Dad said get up.”

“ _You_ said get up. Dad didn’t say anything.”

“He told me to get you up. So I did.”

I glare at her. “I don’t believe you.”

Her blue eyes widen. “Ask him! He said so!” She plants her hands on her nonexistent hips. “ _Dad_!” she calls.

“Stop!” I extend my arms out straight in efforts to shut her up. “Mom is probably sleeping.”

“She’s always sleeping,” Prim says, shrugging, and then Dad appears in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “What’s all the noise? Your mother’s trying to sleep.”

I whip my head back around to glare at my little sister. “See. Told you.”

“You said to wake her up. So I did. And then she said the f-word at me.”

I close my eyes and clench my fists at my sides. “I did not.”

“She did so.”

“Katniss…” Dad sounds exhausted, and I immediately feel responsible. “Primrose. Please.”

“Dad, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine, Kat,” he says. “Just get in the shower and get dressed. We gotta go.”

I follow him out of Prim’s room all the way to the top of the stairs. “Go?” I ask. “Go where?”

He sighs. “You and your sister are signed up for community ed theater camp.”

I stop in my tracks. “Wait, what? Theater camp? You’re kidding. Dad.”

He turns around and looks me dead in the eyes, and I can clearly see that he isn’t joking. “It’s to get you out of the house. You know how long the summers can get when you two are holed up here.”

“Yeah,” I fight back, not letting him escape down the stairs. “That’s what summer’s supposed to be like. The school year is crazy for me, dad. I work, I do soccer, I do all this stuff, and the summer is the only time I get.”

He throws up his hands in submission. “Wasn’t my idea.”

“Mom?” I ask snidely. “Seriously. What say does mom have-”

“Katniss,” he says, stopping me. “Enough. Be ready downstairs in thirty minutes, no buts.”

I trudge back into my room, careful not to slam the door when I close it. If I did, I’d be in deep shit. In the shower, I go on an inner tirade of everything wrong with this picture. My mom should have absolutely zero say in what Prim and I do this summer because she never does anything with us. If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times that it’s not her fault that she’s the way she is, but that doesn’t change the fact that she shouldn’t get to plan our every free moment.

I’m mad at my dad at the same time for not sticking up for us. He knows how busy my schedule gets during school. Summer is my only reprieve.

I come out of the bathroom squeezing my wet hair into a towel, and see Prim waiting on my bed in the same ratty outfit from earlier. “Prim…” I say, digging around in my dresser. “You need to change clothes.”

“Why?” she asks.

“We’re going somewhere. Those are play clothes. Go put on something nicer. How about that old yellow dress of mine?”

She sighs softly and stands up, walking past me to go through our bathroom into her own room. When she comes back, she’s in the yellow dress with tiny sunflowers printed on it.

“And did you sleep in those braids?” I ask, pulling on a fresh pair of underwear under my towel. Prim nods. “Sit down on the floor,” I say. “I’m gonna redo them.”

She tugs at the end of one. “Why?”

I sigh exasperatedly, facing my back towards her as I put on a bra. “Because they’re all messed up. I’m not letting you go out like that.”

She sits down on the floor and waits for me as I pull on a pair of cloth black shorts and an army green t-shirt. I twist my hair into a quick, wet French braid and then sit on my bed above Prim so I can quickly separate her hair into two neat braids.

“Shower day when we get home,” I say gently, patting the top of her head once I’m done. It’s my job to not only be her sister, but her mother, too.

In the car, I sit in the front seat next to Dad and Prim sits in the back. She, of course, has requested that we listen to Top 40 radio, so the tinny sound of her singing along to _Closer_ by the Chainsmokers is right next to my ear. Prim’s music is what we always listen to, so I find myself gravitating to it more than I’d like to admit. My foot is tapping before the song is even halfway over.

Dad clears his throat when we’re at the stop sign before my high school, where this camp is. “You know the new family that moved in down the street?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, only half paying attention. I have my chin resting in my palm, looking out the window at the rest of the kids not getting dropped off by their dads. I have my license, just not my own car.

“Well, I told them that you’d be friendly with their son. His name is Peeta, he’s about your age…”

“Come on, dad…” I mutter, lifting my head up from my hand. “First theater camp, now I’m being assigned friends.”

He purses his lips. “It’s a nice gesture, Katniss. And you can never have too many friends.”

“Yes,” I say, my hand poised on the door handle as the car comes to a rolling stop. “You can.”

“Promise me that you’ll make him feel welcome,” Dad says, ducking his head to keep eye contact with me as I get out of the front seat of the car. “He’s standing right by the door. See? The one with the blonde hair over there.” Dad waves in his direction, and the guy waves back.

“Fine,” I say. “Come on, Prim.”

She holds my hand at first as we walk away from the car, but then spots some friends from school. She drops my hand instantly and runs off to talk to them, her braids flopping and hitting her back with each bounding step she takes.

My stomach sinks with dread. The last thing I want to do is make friends at this thing, and I have plenty of friends at school anyway. They’re who I want to spend summer with, not a bunch of theater geeks.

“Hi,” I say once I reach him, and I try to make my voice sound not so glum. “I’m Katniss. My dad said that you’re new here.”

He smiles and I see his Adam’s apple bob with the effort. “Yeah,” he says, and extends his hand for me to shake. “I’m Peeta Mellark. Nice to meet you.”

I grip his hand and notice it’s practically dripping with sweat. I try to make wiping it on my shorts look inconspicuous.

“So, um, why did you sign up for theater camp?” he asks.

I lean against the stair railing, settling my weight back into my elbows. “I didn’t,” I say. “I got told this morning that we were coming here. It wasn’t really a 'signup' sort of deal. It was more like a 'get out of the house' sort of deal. My sister, she’s over there,” I point my finger towards Prim. “She’ll have fun. She likes this shit.” I shake my head. “I hate it.”

“Oh, um…” He clears his throat. “I don’t really know how I feel about it. I figured I might as well try, you know?” He waits for me to respond, but I don’t. “My dad suggested I sign up, and I thought it was a good idea.”

I nod silently and then notice everyone gathering by the main doors, heading inside as it was about to start. “Guess we better head in,” I say. “Wouldn’t want to miss anything.”

We sit in rickety old theater chairs and I keep a watchful eye on Prim as the coordinator speaks. She’s sitting with a group of friends, but I make sure not to lose sight of her blonde head anyway.

We’re broken up by age groups, and Prim gives me a wave before heading off with her people. I’m left in a smaller sized group with Peeta and a handful of other kids our age, ones that I don’t recognize from school. They have the homeschooled vibe to them, which makes me instantly standoffish. Peeta, on the other hand, is a natural socialite. He makes conversation that flows easily, and when he feels me watching him, he includes me though I hadn’t asked.

We all sit in a circle for the first exercise. We already had to sit through a lecture on the importance of knowing the who, what, when, and where of theater, which droned on and on forever. It all seems so trivial and I can’t find it within myself to care.

“So let’s go around the circle and answer this one question,” our leader, Effie, says. “If you were an animal, what would you be, and why?”

I roll my eyes. People take their turns and say a butterfly, an eagle, a wolf, all things cliché. I scoff under my breath at a few of the more ridiculous ones, and only pay attention when Peeta says that he’d be a chameleon.

“So I could blend into my surroundings. It would make it pretty easy for me to fit in, you know, if people couldn’t even see me.”

His answer resonates with me and I spend a minute thinking it over as I stare at the dusty floor. I think about it for so long that I don’t even realize that it’s my turn until the leader calls my name.

“Katniss? How about you?”

The disdainful feeling is back. I wish I was anywhere else but here right about now. “Roadkill,” I say, deadpan.

She narrows her eyes at me. “That’s not an animal. Be specific.”

“A raccoon, then. Dead as a doornail.”

Effie stares me down but I stare at her right back. I cross my arms and she backs down before I do, breaking our eye contact. “And why’s that?” she asks.

  
“Because then I’d be on the side of the road and not here,” I say, and I hear Peeta trying to stifle his laughter. 

She doesn’t acknowledge my answer; she just moves on to the next person. Peeta catches my eye as he’s still giggling, and I can’t help but return his smile.

After that exercise, Effie has us lay on the floor to concentrate on our breathing. My now-undone hair fans out around my head and I fold my hands together over my protruding ribcage, feeling my breaths go in and out quickly. There’s no way I’m going to be able to relax with all of these strangers around me, so I don’t even try.

“Katniss, try and breathe a little easier,” Effie comments, walking close to me. Her feet are right by my head, and if she’s not careful she’s going to step on my hair. “Close your eyes and just think about your breath, that’s it.”

I close my eyes, but don’t pay my breath any mind. All I can think about is just how much I want to get out of here.

“This is so stupid,” I hiss, just loud enough so Peeta can hear.

I open my eyes and see that his are still closed, but he’s grinning. “You’re gonna get us in trouble,” he says.

“I don’t care,” I respond, bending my knees up so I can tap my foot impatiently.

“That’s not very Zen of you,” he chides.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well.”

Camp drags on forever, lasting all the way until 4pm. Prim finds me where I’m standing by the wall close to the stairs when the day is over. Peeta is sitting on the bottom step, messing around on his iPhone 6. I feel self-conscious of the iPhone 4 that’s in my shoulder bag, so I don’t make a move to pull it out, not even to give my hands something to do.

“Katniss!” Prim says enthusiastically, running up to me and throwing her arms around my waist. The brunt of her weight against me forces me against the wall, but I return the hug and pat her back.

Peeta turns his head to look up at us and then flashes a shy, if not a bit awkward, smile. We all share a moment of strained silence until I realize what I have to do. “This is my sister, Prim. Prim, Peeta. You know, the guy who Dad wanted us to be friends with.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, flouncing over to him. “You just moved in on our street, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s me.”

“His family is opening a new bakery in town,” I say, repeating what he told me earlier.

Her blue eyes widen with excitement. “I wanna go!” she trills.

“It opens in October,” Peeta says, and I can hear the pride in his voice. “You guys should come in on opening day.”

Prim looks to me for approval. I shrug one shoulder. “We’ll have to see.”

My attention gets caught by the sight of Dad’s car pulling up to the pickup lane, and my stomach jumps with excitement because we finally get to leave.

“Oh, there’s Dad,” I say, and take Prim’s wrist. “We gotta go. See you around, Peeta.”

Both Prim and I wave as we hurry off towards the car, and I let out a long groan as I buckle myself in and Dad drives away from the building after giving Peeta a wave.

“So?” he asks. “How was it?”

“I had so much fun!” Prim says.

“I’m not going back there again,” I say. Dad gives me a look. “I’m not,” I repeat. “I’ll gladly walk Prim there in the mornings, but there is no way that you can force me to step back inside that place. It was torture.”

“She talked to that one boy,” Prim says.

Dad raises his eyebrows. “Is that why you don’t want to go back?”

I screw up my face. “No,” I say. “I don’t want to go back because everything they made me do was stupid and not relevant to my life.”

Dad sighs. “Well, I still want you there. I don’t care how dumb it was, it’s good for you to get out of the house.”

I grip the handle on the armrest. “Dad, please,” I say, my voice rising.

“No, Katniss,” he says. “Just give it some time.”

“It’s only going to get worse,” I grumble, slumping against my seat. “Can you just drop me off at Gale’s?”

Dad doesn’t answer, but he turns down the next street. When he pulls up in front of my boyfriend’s house, he puts the car in park and leaves it running. “Be home for dinner,” he says.

“Can I come in with you?” Prim asks.

“No,” I say. “I’ll see you later.”

I walk towards the house and when I see the Trump sign in Gale’s front yard, I practically scream. I’m in a bad enough mood as it is, and seeing that just makes it worse. The only car in the driveway is his, which means that he’s here and his mom and dad aren’t. I was hoping that would be the case, because if he had been gone at football practice then I would’ve had to walk all the way home.

“What the fuck is that sign in the yard?” I call out once I'm inside. I hear movement from upstairs, and stand in the foyer looking up.

He peeks his head out over the railing so I can see the shit-eating grin on his face. “Dad put that out,” he says. “You like it? Come up.”

I kick off my shoes and can feel myself fuming. “No,” I say. “I don’t fucking like it. It’s horrible. He’s a horrible person, Gale.”

“It’s just a joke,” he says. “Him running and stuff. He’ll never make it past the primaries.”

“You still don’t have to have the sign up,” I say, plopping down on his bed. “It’s offensive.”

He scoffs. “Offensive. Offensive, like what? To who?”

“To _me_ ,” I say.

“To you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What’s so offensive about it to you? You’re not running against him.”

“Because I’m a woman,” I say. “It’s offensive to all women. He’s made it pretty clear that he hates women.”

“What? How?” Gale laughs. “Plus, you’re a girl. Come on. Don’t say woman like that, it makes you sound old.”

“It’s the same difference,” I say. “Take the sign down.”

“No,” he says. “It’s my dad’s. I’m not touching it.”

“I’m going to come here in the middle of the night and torch it,” I say.

“Dare you,” he says. “You won’t do shit.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “All talk no action. Familiar, familiar.”

I raise my lip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come _on_ ,” he says, pulling me closer to him and massaging my shoulders with his strong hands. “Stop trying to start shit.”

I lay back on the bed with my arms stretched above my head. My shirt billows up to expose my stomach with the breeze coming from the fan in the corner, and he slips his hand under the hem to touch my skin.

“I’m not starting shit,” I say, bending my knees. “I’m telling you that you shouldn’t support Trump because it makes me not want to date you.”

“Shut up about him already…” Gale says, rolling over on his side so his body is pressed along the length of mine. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

“I don’t either,” I say, feeling his lips on the curve of my jaw. “But with the sign out there, it’s hard not to. You started it.”

“No, you did,” he says, nipping at my earlobe.

Chills make the hair on my arms stand up as he blows gently into my ear. “Stop…” I say, a smile playing on my lips as I squirm away from him. He holds me in place with one arm heavy across my hips, though.

“Stay,” he whispers, and kisses my neck. I turn my head so he can fit easier, and his hand skims up beneath my shirt to gently graze my breast, tracing the underwire without moving any further.

“You really should take the sign down,” I say softly, letting my hands wander over his back.

“I’ll think about it,” he says.

“He’s a misogynist,” I say, as Gale’s teeth graze my pulse point. “He’s anti-feminist.”

“And you’re a feminazi,” he says. “We all have our faults. Now, please, please be quiet so I can kiss you.”

Even though I want to find it within myself to continue being pissed off, his lips on my skin feels crazy good from the shit day I’ve had. He kisses the skin made bare by the V in my shirt, and then makes his way down to lift the bottom fabric up over my bra so my top half is basically entirely uncovered.

He anchors his hands on either of my breasts and gives them a rough squeeze, keeping his grip there as he presses kisses on the warm skin of my abdomen. His grip is a bit tight on my chest so I situate myself in attempts to wordlessly let him know, but it doesn’t change.

“Loosen up,” I finally say, and shift his wrists myself.

“What?” he asks, lifting his face to look at me.

“You’re grabbing me like you’re operating a forklift. Be gentle.”

“You’re too fucking sensitive,” he says, and then moves his hands down from my breasts to my hips, where he messes with the drawstring of my cloth shorts. He goes to untie the string, but I grab his hand before he can.

“Stop,” I say, and sit up against the headboard.

“Come on,” he groans, throwing his head back and running his hand through his raven hair like I’ve done him such a disservice. “You’re such a fucking tease, Katniss.”

“I didn’t come over here to have sex,” I say, pulling my shirt back down to cover myself. “I just wanted to hang out.”

“Then you shouldn’t have let me keep kissing you,” he says, his voice pouty like a little kid’s. “I still don’t get what the holdup is. We’ve done it before, what’s stopping you from doing it again?” My eyes flit all around the room and can’t help but pause between his legs, where his pants are bulged from his apparent erection.

“I just don’t want to right now,” say, suddenly very uncomfortable.

“Right now or ever. Then when?” he asks. “I’m tired of it. You already gave it to me twice. I know a million other girls who’d do it with me in like, seconds.” I glare at him. “Not that I _would_ , Jesus. I’m just saying. I could.”

“You giving me an ultimatum really, really helps,” I say sarcastically.

“I’m not trying to… ugh!” He throws his hands up in the air. “You never fucking listen to me.”

“If you don’t want to wait, then maybe you shouldn’t be with me,” I state simply.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, growing increasingly angry. “I want to be with you. I love you, goddammit. I just want _more_ of you, okay? I got it before, so it’s hard not to fucking think about it. I just want to do what all other couples do. You won’t even let me see you naked anymore.”

“I know we did it before,” I say. “And I won’t let you see me naked because I know it’ll lead to other things.”

“And what would be so wrong with that?”

“I don’t know!” I blow up, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I stand up from the bed and straighten my clothes for a second time. “I should just go. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Wait, Katniss, stop…” he says, his voice softer and different. “Don’t go. Don’t be mad.”

I shake his hand off where he’s grabbed me. “I’m not mad,” I insist. I do not want to start crying on front of him; in fact, that’s the last thing I want. I’ve never cried in front of him before and I don’t plan on starting now. I never let people see me cry, specifically Gale. “I just want to go home.”

He follows me down the stairs and keeps his eyes on me as I put my shoes on. “Do you want a ride?” he asks.

I shake my head, staring down at the laces I’m tying up. 

“Are you pissed off at me?” he asks pitifully.

“I said no,” I repeat, sniffling in.

“Are you crying?”

  
“No!” I practically shout, and then take it down a notch. “I already said that. I’m not.” I’m halfway out the door when I say, “See you tomorrow. Or something.”

**PEETA**

After Katniss leaves, I stand up from the staircase and watch her dad’s car drive away towards the street where we both live. I drove myself here this morning and could’ve left at any time, but I wanted to wait for her to go first.

My body feels light as I walk to my car, and I can’t get her eyes out of my head. I’ve never seen ones like them before; gray like flint around the edges and lighter in the middle, like a shallowing pool. It’s hard to believe that she of all people is the first person that I’ve met in this little town, and the thought of seeing her every day this summer has my heart going wild. Earlier today, I had wanted to ask her out for coffee, or for dessert, or for _something_ , but hadn’t worked up the courage. Tomorrow, I promise myself, that’s when I’ll ask her. I really want to get to know her outside of the theater setting, which she’s made it quite clear that she hates.

I can’t help hoping that her dad keeps forcing her to come. I need an excuse to see her every day.

The whole drive home, I can’t stop smiling. When I pull up in my driveway, my mom is out on the front porch throwing rugs over the railing, and she avoids looking over at me as I walk up the path to the front door.

“Hey, mom,” I say. “Need help?”

“Could’ve used help all day,” she says under her breath. “Your father’s been at the bakery, I’ve been here all alone trying to set up this house that we just _had_ to move to…”

“I can help now,” I offer, bending at the waist to pick up a rug that’s lying on the ground.

“Leave it,” she says sternly. “You're not gonna know how to do it. Just let me. Go inside and start dinner.” As I start to walk inside, she stops me by grabbing my arm. “Where were you all day, anyway?” she asks.

“I was um, at the auditorium,” I say quietly.

“The what?” she asks, turning one ear closer to me. “Speak up.”

“The auditorium,” I say, louder this time.

“Auditorium?” she repeats, her face all screwed up. “What the hell were you doing there?”

“Theater camp,” I say. “Dad saw something for it on Facebook and thought it looked fun. I had a pretty good time. I think I made a friend, too.”

“Theater camp,” she scoffed, mostly under her breath. “Nice to know my _son_ is doing theater.”

“So, um,” I stammer. “I’m gonna go inside now and start dinner.”

We make prolonged eye contact and then she widened her gaze at me. “So?” she asked, her tone biting. “What are you waiting for?”

I take the cue to leave and walk inside, navigating the maze of boxes that we have yet to unpack. Coming to this small town in Michigan, Otsego it’s called, was Dad’s idea. We used to live in the northern part of the state, but he bought out an older bakery here for ours to replace. He thinks it will do well and I hope he’s right, but Mom, of course, has no faith in him or the bakery.

Both of my older brothers live out of the house; Leo just got engaged and Abe goes to the community college located in our old town, where he still lives.

So now, living here, we probably won’t be seeing much of them. I’m not happy about that because the two of them always helped ease the tension that Mom brings with her everywhere she goes.  Now, I have to bear the brunt of it myself, and I’m the one she hates the most.

When Dad gets home, Mom and I have already eaten dinner and I’m upstairs unpacking my room. I hear a soft knock on my door, and he pushes it open seconds later with a smile on his face.

“Hey, Peet,” he says, leaning on the doorjamb. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I say, standing up straight from the box I’d been digging in.

“You had the first day of that theater thing today, right?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah,” I say.

“You think you might become a famous actor now?” he smiles and his tone is jovial.

I shake my head and laugh. “No, no, I don’t think so. It was kind of fun, though.”

“Meet any friends?”

I shrug. “Maybe,” I say. “Not sure yet. It was just the first day, you know. Can’t really tell.”

“Right,” he says. “How was your mother when you got home?”

I give him a straight-faced look. “Same as always.”

“Mad?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She was shaking out rugs when I pulled up. I offered to help her, but…” I shrug again. “Didn’t want it. So I just made dinner. There’re leftovers in the fridge if you want them.”

“Ah, okay,” he says. “She’ll come around. You know how she feels about us having to move and stuff.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Are you feeling alright about it?” he asks. “I know it’s a big change for you, too.”

“I’m okay,” I tell him. In all honesty, I’m not too bothered by it, but changing schools for my senior year isn’t ideal. I wasn’t hugely popular at my old school, but I had people who I talked to. They probably won’t miss me; I’m not too hung up on missing them, but starting over is never easy. “I like the change.”

“My boy,” Dad says, walking to me and giving me a firm hug. “I’m gonna go get those leftovers and then hit the hay. Don’t stay up too late, okay?” I nod and smile, and he gives me a wave goodnight.

After a while, I give up my unpacking mission and turn in for the night, laying down on my mattress that’s still bare. I fall asleep with my brain clogged of thoughts about Katniss.

 

In the morning, I embarrass myself by spending a few more minutes than usual in front of the mirror, making sure my hair is perfect. Yesterday, I hadn’t really given much care to it, leaving it matted and sticking up in weird places. But today, I comb it down and make sure it looks presentable. I want Katniss to think I look nice and that I care about my appearance. I want to look put together even though I just moved in and my routine isn’t established yet.

When I finally go downstairs, I grab a banana and then practically trot out to my car. I drive out of my neighborhood, which last night I found out is called Ely Acres, and drive down the main road to get to the auditorium.

When I pull up in the parking lot, I park near the entrance and am about halfway to the door when I see Katniss waving Prim goodbye and then start walking the other way. Prim skips inside and Katniss, with hunched shoulders, hurries away from the building.

I call her name, but she doesn’t turn around. I see the wires coming from her head and realizing she has her earbuds in, I catch up to her and touch her shoulder gently.

She spins around with visible alarm on her face, and holds her heart once she realizes that it’s only me.

“Jesus, you scared me,” she says.

“Sorry,” I say with a smile. “Where’re you headed?”

She looks guilty, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her dark green zip-up. “Away from here,” she says. She continues after seeing the expression of confusion on my face. “I can’t stand this thing, but my dad still thinks I’m going. So… I’m just getting out of here until it's done.” I nod slowly, my stomach sinking with disappointment. “So…see you around,” she says.

If she had invited me to ditch with her, I would’ve done it in a second. But she didn’t. I turn away from her as she disappears further and further into the distance, and then run my hands roughly through my hair that I had painstakingly done this morning. The excess gel that sticks to my fingers now just makes me feel stupid.

With my hands still mussing up my hair, I walk through the double doors of the auditorium without anyone by my side.  

 

That trend continues throughout the rest of the summer. I would drive up to the auditorium and park my car, usually just in time to see Katniss hurrying away with her head ducked and Prim skipping inside. I don’t make a move to try and talk to her again, although I badly want to. As the months go on, it’s obvious that she had other things on her mind and more important things to do.

I made a few friends in my group at camp, but no one that really counts. They’re just the type of friends to hang out with in the setting you meet them in, nothing more. I never found out anything about their personal lives, we just talk about stuff in the moment. It makes me feel a little less lame, but not much.

When the end of the summer comes along, I’m more grateful than anything. Upon first moving here, I was more nervous about the start of school than anything else, but now it feels like a relief.

On the night before the first day, my mom and dad are arguing and I can hear their every word through the vents in my floor. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and pinch my eyes shut to try and block it out. It’s about money; it’s always about money. Hearing the stress that every single cost of the new bakery puts on them makes me have anxiety myself, so I heave my body up from my bed and crank my window open.

My room looks out over the garage with the slanted roof, so it’s pretty easy to scale down it without being noticed. I squeeze through the windowpanes and then slide down until I can make the short jump to the grass. When I do, I start down the sidewalk on foot to take a walk.

I make my way through the neighborhood aimlessly, with absolutely zero destination in mind. I don’t really need one; I just needed to get out of that house and clear my mind.

I wonder what school will be like tomorrow. At my old one, there were a lot of students and it was easy to get lost in the crowd. This town is much smaller, so I don’t think that will be the case. I’m hoping that fact will make it easier for me to make some friends.

It’s nice walking along just listening to the outside noises without headphones in. But just as I’m thinking this, I hear the bass of a song with a heavy beat coming from somewhere outside. I squint my eyes to try and look for headlights, but don’t see any cars on the road.

Suddenly, I realize that it’s not coming from a car, it’s coming from inside a house. I’ve looped back around to the road that I live on, but the other end of it, where Katniss and her family live, and the sound is coming from her house.

The front door is wide open with yellow light pouring onto the porch. There aren’t any cars in the driveway, which tells me she’s home alone and that’s the only reason that the song that’s playing is as loud as it is.

_By the way_

_By the way_

_You do things to my body_

_I didn’_ _t_ _know_ _that_ _I_ _was_ _starving_ _‘_ _til_ _I_ _tasted_ _you_

I can make out her shape easily, even from the opposite side of the street. The kitchen is in the front of the house, and she’s jumping around the island dressed in pajama shorts and a tank top, her hair up in a messy bun on top of her head. She’s dancing like crazy to this song, sung by Hailee Steinfeld, and I cover my mouth to keep my smile at bay and try not to stare.

I shouldn’t idle just watching her, even I can see how creepy that is. I let myself linger for one more drawn-out second, and then shove my hands deep into my pockets and walk quickly away from her private dance party of one.

I go back home and sneak in the back door, not in the mood to scale back up the roof and get back in my room through the window. My entrance goes unnoticed anyway; my dad is in the living room with the TV cranked and my mom must be in bed.

I walk up the stairs with a slight smile on my face, still picturing Katniss dancing like an idiot in her kitchen. I can’t help wondering what made her so happy, and finding it pretty cute that she could be that excited and carefree on her own.

As I think about it harder, though, I start to feel embarrassed. I shouldn’t be thinking about her this much, because in reality I don’t know her at all. I just saw a tiny glimpse of her life and am already assuming different situations that could’ve been the reason for it. It’s weird and desperate, if anything.

The smile on my face turns to a scowl as I try to think of anything else but Katniss. I’d never have a chance with her, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**PEETA**

I wake up every hour that night, each time paranoid that I somehow slept through my alarm and am running late. I jolt up from my mattress each time, and my eyes open only to find it 2, 3, 4am, so I just slump back down.

When my alarm does actually go off, it jars me out of a light sleep that I’d been drifting in and out of discontentedly. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck; I’ve never slept this badly in my life, even when my mattress was on the floor during the summer.

I rub my eyes and glance at myself as I pass the mirror in the bathroom. My hair’s messed up, I have bags under my eyes, and drool crust on my cheek. I look away and wipe at my cheek roughly, feeling annoyed and grossed out at myself.

I try extra hard to look nice. While _Starving_ by Hailee Steinfeld plays, I spend time standing in front of my closet, leafing through last year’s shirts. Because of the move, I never had a chance to go school shopping and because of that, I only have old, ill-fitting clothes to pick from. I try to look past it and just find something to wear, try and tell myself that it doesn’t matter, but as I look through the shirts I can’t help but notice that their colors are faded and they fit too short on my waist.

I must go through the rack at least three times before picking out a blue flannel paired with khakis that still look nice because of how little I wore them last year. All of my jeans are too short now; I must have gone through an unnoticed growth spurt over the summer.

I look in the mirror one more time before leaving and can’t ignore the nerves jumping in my stomach. I know I should try and force myself to eat some breakfast, but the thought of eating anything just makes my stomach more upset than it already is.

Mom is still in bed and Dad is already at the bakery, working crazy hours so it’ll be ready to open as soon as possible. When it finally does, I’ll have to start working there again, which is nothing new to me. I’ve been working with my dad at the bakery since I was old enough to knead dough. I sigh and gather my keys from the bowl by the door and brace myself for the day ahead, then leave the house without anyone to see me off.

The drive to the high school is short. I drive past two elementary schools and the library, and then see the sprawling high school campus in the distance. It’s not a big school – less than a thousand kids in total – but the building was redone recently so the facilities are still immaculate. The look of it is intimidating enough, and it makes me not want to step a foot inside.

I stay in my parked car for a while, staring down at my phone and hating myself for my too-short shirt. I promise myself that I’ll scrape together some money and find time to go to Target and get myself at least a few new clothes. I’m already the new kid, and I don’t want to add insult to injury by dressing badly.

The clock reads 7:40 and the final bell will ring in ten minutes, so I get out of my car and keep my head low as I walk to the front doors. There are kids mingling about in circles of friend groups, catching up after the long summer of missing each other. No one’s eyes are on me, and I’m happy about that. I’ve never been the new kid before; at my old school, I’d grown up with everyone since kindergarten. I knew everyone and everyone knew me, and the first days of school were always something exciting. Before now, I’d never had a reason to dread them.

I find my way to my locker and keep my shoulders hunched up by my ears. My hand shakes as I fumble with the combination lock, and I get it wrong three times before it finally clangs open. I shove my backpack inside after pulling my crumpled schedule out of it, and smooth it out as best I can to see what class I have first. It looks like I have AP Psychology, Gym, lunch, Advanced Art, AP Literature, and then Personal Finance.

I look up from the piece of paper just as the 7:45 bell rings. My stomach jumps with anxiety again and I look at the numbers of the doors surrounding me to see if I’m anywhere close to the classroom that I need, only to see that I’m not. I walk with purpose down the hall as the last minutes before the last bell wind down, and luckily find where I need to be with one minute to spare. I rush into the classroom as everyone is already sitting and talking, and find one of the only empty seats near the front.

My face is hot as I sit there silently, staring down at the fake, plastic wood of the desk that’ll be mine for the rest of the year. I pull out my binder and notebook and set them on my desk, along with a school-assigned planner that was mailed to my house a couple weeks ago. The teacher walks in just as the bell rings and introduces himself as Mr. Crane.

“Welcome back,” he says. “I’m sure none of you want to be here right now after such a relaxing summer. Well, the truth is I don’t, either.” The class laughs. I try to join in, but it’s hard to force a smile on my face when I still feel so nervous. Mr. Crane glances at his roster and then surveys the class with his eyes. “Looks like we have a new student in our midst. Peeta Mellark, where are you, my man?”

My heartbeat speeds up tenfold and my knees feel like Jell-O when I raise my hand halfway to make my presence known.

“Welcome to OHS,” Mr. Crane says, and the class stares at me like I’m a sideshow. “Let’s give him a warm welcome.” The class claps for me, which I have no idea why they would do. It doesn’t seem fitting at all. “I hope your senior year here is awesome, buddy.”

I give him a terse smile, and then look back down at my desk. I have a feeling that the rest of the day is going to be just as painful.

When AP Psych is over, I find my way to the gym. I go to the wrong one at first and then get told that my class is in the ‘big gym,’ and I have no idea what that means, but I follow the directions that they give me and end up blustering into the ‘big gym’ a few minutes late.

The gym teacher has a wheezy voice that is hard to understand, but I hear him coughing right when I hurry through the double doors. “Looking for that new student and all I see are faces I already know,” he says, and then looks in my direction after the doors slam shut. “Ah, there he is. Come on over.”

I walk over with my AP Psych materials still in hand. I see some other kids with binders in their hands, too, so I don’t feel too out-of-place, but most of them are emptyhanded.

“This is Pe…Pe…”

“Peeta,” I manage to say, giving yet another forced smile. I scan the crowd of high-schoolers sitting cross legged on the gym floor and my stomach plummets to my feet when I see a familiar face. Katniss is sitting in the middle of the crowd surrounded by three girls talking amongst themselves. She’s not talking, though, she’s staring straight ahead but not at me. Up at the wall, past my head, totally zoned out and not paying attention. She looks completely lost in her own head.

“This is Peeta,” the teacher, whose name I learn is Mr. Abernathy, finishes. “Let’s try and help him have a good first trimester. Let’s make it the best we can. Sound good?” There are various sounds of assent from the crowd, but no one cares that much. I’m relieved.

I don’t want to catch Katniss’s eye, but I keep looking over at her only to see that she’s still staring into space. Mr. Abernathy starts going over the syllabus after handing it out, and as he’s reading along the bullet-points, looks up at us to make sure everyone is following along. After flipping the first page, he looks at the group of us and shout/wheezes, “Everdeen!” All of us jump except Katniss, who glides her gaze down to him slowly. “I don’t know what world you’re in, but it’s not this one. Join us, please.”

She purses her lips and directs her eyes down to the sheet of paper in her hand, and Mr. Abernathy is placated. I keep my eyes on her until he starts speaking again, and then force myself to look away.

I sit alone at lunch, my tray of boxed mashed potatoes and a dry panini sitting in front of me untouched. After today, I promise myself, I’ll pack my own food. I swirl the potatoes around with my fork and glance up occasionally, wondering if anyone will come over and talk to me. Over the 35-minute course of lunch, no one so much as glances my way.

Art is the only class where I feel myself all day. No one talks to each other, the teacher doesn’t bother introducing me, and we all only have one thing in mind. Painting.

I let myself get lost in the colors like I always do at home. When I start, I don’t have anything specific in mind but end up painting a sunset over the water.

The teacher, Mrs. Cardew, makes me jump when she appears over my shoulder. “That could be Lake Michigan,” she says, crossing her arms and nodding. “St. Joe pier. Is that what you painted?”

I look up at her with surprise on my face. “Oh, um, no.”

She looks puzzled, but interested. “Oh, then where is that?”

“It’s just…water,” I say. “I don’t know what St. Joe is. I’m not from here.”

She looks confused. “Are you new this year?” I nod, hoping she doesn’t plan on introducing me because I thought I had dodged that bullet. “Where did you move from?”

“Up north,” I say.

“Is this the coast there?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “It’s just coast. It’s just nothing. I just saw it in my head and I painted it.”

She nods slowly, approving. “Well, I like it. Welcome to Otsego.”

She leaves and I smile to myself. Though I had been being welcomed for the entire day up until this point, this was the only time that I actually felt it.

The rest of the day passes slowly and without any interaction from my classmates. In AP Literature and Personal Finance, I was introduced to the class like a new pet again, both times my name mispronounced. Once school is over, it feels like a huge weight is lifted off of my chest and I head to the nearest coffee shop to reward myself with something that hopefully tastes good. It’s the small-town version of a Starbucks, called Mezzo, and when I step inside it’s nice and quiet. The ceilings are high – this place obviously didn’t start out as a coffee shop – but it creates a nice atmosphere. I order a caramel mocha at the counter and then pick it up at the end, finding a table near the front windows to sit at while I sip it.

I take a look around as I blow on my hot coffee, and my eyes widen when I see her. Katniss, yet again, seemingly following me.

She doesn’t know I’m here, though. There’s no way she’s following me, but a small, sick part of me wishes that she was. I know I’m wrong, though. We spent one day together over the summer, then she spent the rest of it forgetting me while I spent the rest of it wondering when the next time I’d see her would be. But it seems to be that the universe is on my side; putting her in my same gym class and in the same coffee shop after school.

I chastise myself for how stupid I am right after I think that. Mezzo is one of the two coffee places in this town, unless you wanted to go on the main strip to Biggby or travel 15 miles to Starbucks. She doesn’t have a car; she probably walked here, and Biggby is not in walking distance.

It’s all pure coincidence that we’re both here, but I can’t help hoping that she’ll see me and come say hi. I’m surely not going to be the first one to go up to her. I don’t want to seem weird.

I don’t like the drink I ordered, so I tell myself that I’ll order something different next time. I keep an eye on Katniss as I sit there, and she doesn’t look up once. She stays with her head rested on her hand, her eyes cast downward. She looks sad, and I wish there was something that I could do, but I know there’s not. She probably doesn’t even remember who I am.

She leaves before I do, and I watch her go from the corner of my eye. I wonder if she’ll see me sitting over here, but she just makes a straight beeline for the door without looking around. I let my shoulders deflate once she leaves, and get up to go myself shortly after.

When I get home, my dad is sitting at the table.

“Hey, Peeta!” he says, and I notice that he’s cooked dinner and it’s my place is waiting for me, still hot. “Sit down.”

I shed my backpack so it falls and hits the floor and sit down next to my dad. “You’re home early,” I say. For the past couple days, he hasn’t come in from the bakery until I was already in bed.

“Because I’m finally all finished,” he says proudly. “Bakery opens up tomorrow. You ready for your 3:30 shift?”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re done early,” I say.

“Yep,” he says. “Better for business. I can count on you, right?”

I take a bite of the casserole that he made – it tastes better than anything I’ve had all day – and nod. “Of course,” I say. “I’ll be there.”

 

The next day at school, the day goes the same way. In second hour, though, instead of just having to listen to Mr. Abernathy drone on about the syllabus, we actually have to start the volleyball unit.

I walk behind the crowd to the boys’ locker room and then set my bag on the bench as I open my locker. In the mess of bodies in the small space, it ends up falling to the ground so some of my things fall out, including my ‘Mellark’s Bakery’ t-shirt.

Before I can grab it, a tall, buff guy with a blonde buzzcut gets to it. He snatches it up off the floor and holds it up, raising his eyebrows. “Whose fucking shirt is this?”

Laughter circulates the group of guys, and I start picking up the rest of everything that fell out of my bag to put it all back in. I try to make myself as small as possible, but that doesn’t prove to be very easy. I’m not exactly a small person.

“Is this yours?” The tone of his voice has changed, and I think he might just be offering to help, to give it back to me because it dropped.

“Oh, yeah, uh, tha-”

“It’s _his_ ,” the guy says, and whips it away from my outstretched hand. “Why do you have a shirt with a bakery logo on it? Are you a fag or something?”

My cheeks flame and I stare down at the grimy tile below our feet. “Um, no, I… uh, I work there.”

“What?” He twists the shirt into a thin rope and then whips it so it cracks. It makes me jump, and for some reason no one else flinches. “Speak up,” he says. “Can’t hear you.”

“I work there,” I say. “It’s my dad’s place.”

He scoffs and continues to whip the shirt. At this point, I don’t want it back. I can just get another one when I go in later. “Your daddy’s bakery?” he taunts. I don’t know why he’s making this such a big deal. At my old school, no one cared that I worked at the bakery. It was just a fact. I never thought it would be a problem here. “Little pussy boy works at his daddy’s bakery.” He balls the shirt up and throws it at me. It hits my chest and makes me take one step backward. “Sounds gay as fuck to me. Watch your backs when you get dressed, guys.”

He throws his head back with laughter and I stay standing there, staring at the ground with my work shirt clutched to my chest. After everyone’s eyes avert away from me, I shove it back into my bag and then take my gym clothes into a bathroom stall to change.

When we all come out of the locker rooms, the same guy shoulder-checks me as we head to meet up with the rest of the class and teachers. “Watch where you're going, pussy,” he says, loud enough for everyone in earshot to hear. Some people’s heads turn quickly over to see the commotion, and that makes it even worse.

“Sorry,” I say under my breath, and he just laughs. I walk with my arms crossed over to where everyone else is, and a short girl with curly blonde hair meets my eyes.

“Ignore Cato,” she says, just as Mr. Abernathy starts to talk. “He’s an ass to everyone.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, and keep my head ducked for the rest of class.

After school that day, I go to Mezzo and realize that Katniss is waiting for her drink at the far end of the counter as I stand at the register.

“White mocha?” the barista calls out, and sets the drink on the counter. Katniss grabs it and gives the girl a taut smile, then retreats to the same spot she was in yesterday.

The barista working the register looks at me expectantly. I open my mouth and wait for words, but none come at first. When I finally speak, “White mocha,” comes out. “Tall.”

I don’t have time to stick around today; I have to make it to the bakery. But since my drink yesterday tasted so bad, I figure I might as well try what she gets to see if it’s any better.

I glance behind my shoulder to see if she’s noticed me standing here, and she hasn’t. She’s on her phone, scrolling mindlessly.

She’ll never notice me; I’m realizing that now. After what went down in gym today, I don’t think I’m going to do very well at this school in the friend department.

I take my drink once it’s ready and walk out of Mezzo without drawing any attention to myself and then head towards the bakery, ready to start my first shift.

**KATNISS**

On the Sunday before school starts, I’m walking home from Gale’s as tears stream down my cheeks. My pace is quick and fervent; I can’t get home fast enough.

It seems to take forever, and once I get there, it’s dinnertime and my family is all sitting around the oak dining room table. Everyone’s heads turn to me when I bluster in, and I do my best to make it look like I wasn’t just crying my eyes out.

“Hey,” I say, and my voice is waterlogged.

Prim’s eyebrows shoot up. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice wavering.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“Come sit,” Dad says. “Have some dinner. Your mother made casserole.”

I look to Mom, who has an empty, but kind, smile on her face. Her eyes are elsewhere, as usual. “I’m not hungry,” I say. “Thanks, though.”

“Katniss, you should really eat,” Dad pushes.

“You’re gonna be hungry later and you won’t have anything then,” Prim says, repeating words she’s heard Dad say thousands of times.

“No, I’ll be fine,” I insist. “I’m going to bed.”

I start to turn away, but Prim doesn’t relent. “But it’s only dinnertime,” she says, sounding confused.

“Really tired,” I say. “Resting up for school.”

“School doesn’t start until Tuesday,” she says.

“I’m just tired, okay?” I snap, and then turn my bak towards them as I hurry up the stairs.

I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, my room growing dark around me as the night passes by. I close my eyes to try and sleep, but that only makes the thoughts easier to hear.

There’s a soft knock at my door later, followed by a long creak. I turn my head to see Prim standing there, a dinner plate in one hand. Now, I have to admit, the smell is making my stomach growl.

“I got you this just in case you were hungry,” she says timidly, then sets it down on my nightstand.

She hovers in the doorway. “You can come in,” I say quietly, reading her body language. She wants to stay and make me feel better. As my sister, she feels like that’s her duty.

She sits next to me on my bed as I eat, swinging her legs. “Why were you crying?” she asks, not wasting much time.

I debate whether or not to come right out and sat it or to sugarcoat things. I end up deciding that it’ll be easier on us both if I just tell the truth. “I broke up with Gale.”

Her eyes widen. “Why?” she asks. Gale was always nice to her. She never knew the side of him that I do, and now she never will. I hope she never knows that side of any man; the controlling, manipulative, relentless side that won’t give in for anything. The side that doesn’t listen no matter how much you voice your opinion, not even when it feels like you’ve been shouting for years. I was tired of dealing with all of those aspects of Gale, so I did what I should’ve done way earlier and ended things.

Of course, once I brought it up, he made it seem like it had been his idea all along and he wanted to end things with me because I was a ‘shrill bitch’ who wouldn’t put out. He made me cry with his insults and with the fact that it felt like two years of my life had just been tossed down the drain.

“We just don’t love each other anymore,” I say, putting it as simply as I could for her. She’s only eight and doesn’t deserve to be burdened with my toxic relationship, anyway.

“Is he still your friend?” she asks hopefully.

I shake my head. “No, probably not,” I say. “It’s just better if we don’t see each other at all anymore. We’re just done now.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, and then gives me a tight hug around my shoulders. “And he made you sad?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. 

“Why? Why did he make you cry?”

I sigh, discovering that I’m unable to come up with a viable explanation to give her. “He said some mean things to me.” It’s not a lie by any means.

“Like what?”

“Doesn’t matter now,” I say. “And I shouldn’t repeat them, anyway. They were not kind.”

“I don’t like him anymore now, either,” she says firmly. “He’s not allowed to say mean things. Even when you’re mad, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I wish he would’ve known that, too.” I wrap an arm around my sister and lay my cheek on top of her head. “Thanks for bringing me dinner,” I say after a while.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, and then gives me another hug. “Are you still sad?”

I force a smile and lie to her. “No,” I say. “You made me feel all better.”

 

There’s a sense of dread in my stomach starting the moment I wake up on the first day of school. With school comes insurmountable amounts of pressure and trying to keep up the face I’ve made for myself after years of growing up around the same people. I have a solid group of friends and I’m well known, but up until now Gale and I had been a prominent power couple at school. People are going to be shocked when they find out that we’re not together anymore, and I’m really not looking forward to telling the story hundreds of times today. I debate writing a message on a piece of paper and taping it to my forehead, but that might be taking things a bit far.

I trudge through our shared bathroom and go into Prim’s room to wake her up. She’s wrapped up tight with her covers pulled over her head, and I can see them rising and falling with her steady, slow breaths. Her school starts later than mine, but Dad goes to work before either of us wake up so we have to walk together. It’s good for her to get there early anyway, because she can get a good breakfast that I wouldn’t be able to throw together here at home.

It’s her first day of third grade today. “Prim, wake up,” I say, and the covers shift. I pull them down so her head is exposed, and her eyes are just opening. “Time to get ready for school.” A small smile appears on her face as I touch her cheek. “Morning,” I whisper.

“Morning,” she repeats, and then throws her covers back and sets her feet on the ground.

I hop in the shower and when I come out, Prim has laid a few outfit choices out on my bed. Before walking over to my own closet and finding something to wear, I stand at her side to see what she’s deciding between. There’s a pair of overall shorts with a pink shirt underneath, a green, knee-length dress with cap sleeves, and blue jean shorts with a white and purple polka-dotted t-shirt.

“Do the dress,” I say. “It’ll look nice for your picture.” I already got my ID picture taken a few weeks ago, but for the elementary school, picture day is on the first day.

“Good idea,” she says, and takes all of the clothes back into her own room.

For myself, I pick out a pair of leggings and a shirt that I’ve hardly worn since Madge got it for me for my birthday last year. I’ve been saving it for special occasions because I don’t have a ton of nice clothes, and I figure today is as good of a day as any. It’s a deep burgundy color with pretty detailing on the chest and sleeves that fan out around my wrists. I brush my hair out and then put it in a side braid, watching myself in the mirror as I do so. I put on a little bit of makeup; not too much, but it’s the first day. I want to look nice.

“Will you do that to me?” I hear Prim behind me and meet her eyes in the mirror as she appears.

“What, makeup?” I ask, and she nods. I chuckle. “No way. But I’ll give you a cool braid if you sit down.”

I sit behind her on my bed and weave her straw-like hair into a plait that Mom would’ve been proud of years ago. When I’m finished, I run my fingers down the length of it and then pat her shoulders. “Looks great. And that dress looks really cute on you.” She spins and the skirt twirls, and I can remember how I used to do that when that dress was mine. The skirt is perfect for it.

I hold Prim’s hand on our walk to school. The morning is crisp; the grass is dewy and the sun is just starting to come up as we make our way there. Prim makes light conversation with me, but I don’t feel much like talking. When we walk up to the school campus, which the elementary, middle and high school all share, we walk together through the front doors of her building and to the cafeteria, where breakfast is just being served.

“Are you nervous?” I ask while standing in the line with her. Sometimes I stay and eat, too, and today I’m looking for any excuse to put off leaving.

“No,” she says, shrugging her shoulders in a carefree manner. She holds her tray with a smile as a few pancakes get put on it with syrup included, and then picks out an apple for herself. I choose the same things.

We sit down at a table together and then a few of her friends show up; Rue and Rory, the latter who is Gale's little brother. The two of them look like they’ve grown a couple feet.

“You can go now, if you want,” Prim says, her blue eyes twinkling. She’s happy. I shouldn’t stick around any longer, I know that.

“Okay, okay,” I say as I stand up. I kiss the top of her head. “Have a good day. I’ll be here to pick you up at 3:45.”

I walk out of the elementary school and head to the high school, where the bus riders are just starting to go inside. On my way to my new locker, I run into Madge and Johanna, my two best friends.

“Finding your locker?” Madge asks, then runs the material of my shirt between her finger and thumb. “This looks great on you! I knew it would. You should wear it more.”

I give her a terse smile and run my finger along the locker numbers until I find mine. I twist the combination and it pops open on the first try, and I shove my stuff into it. I pull out my schedule and let out a long groan. “Gym second hour,” I say with disdain.

“Me, too,” Johanna says, studying her schedule on a half-sheet of paper. She peeks over at Madge’s and then says, “Her, too.”

“Sounds fun!” Madge squeals, and I sigh.

“I’d rather die,” I say.

“Shut up,” Johanna says, nudging me in the shoulder. “Drama queen.”

As we start to walk the loop around the hallway to bide time before the first bell, Madge brings up just what I didn’t want her to. “So how are you faring?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Don’t remind me,” I murmur under my breath.

Speak of the devil, as we walk through the senior hallway, Gale’s hulking form stands above mostly everyone else. I hear the clang of his locker and then his brash laughter as he and Cato punch each other in the shoulders and cackle about something that's probably stupid.

“Ew,” Madge says loudly, and takes my arm protectively.

He probably feels all of our eyes on him, because he flips around and locks his eyes on me as we pass. I stare right back, not sure what emotion I’m conveying or if he’s even perceptive enough to read it. Probably not. The smile dies away from his face as he watches me, even as Cato continues to beat him. Gale’s mouth settles into a straight frown, but he raises a hand to wave at me anyway. I quickly avert my eyes away from him, walk quickly past, and don’t return the gesture.

 “Have you guys talked?” Jo asks once we’re far away from the scene.

I shake my head. “No,” I say. “And we’re not going to.”

“You’re done for good?” Madge asks.

“Yes,” I say. “He’s an ass.” My upper lip raises in disgust, almost involuntarily. “He said some things that he’d never be able to come back from. He refused to take his dad's stupid sign down and called me a feminazi when I asked him to, like, all summer.”

“Oh yeah, I _saw_ that in his yard,” Madge says. “That’s so…ugh.”

“Is this still about the whole thing because you wouldn’t sleep with him again?” Jo asks. I meet her eyes and don’t need to give a verbal answer before she knows. “What a fucking douche. How long does he have to ask before he gets the point that you don’t want to?”

“And I told him that,” I say, stopping back at my locker to pick up my stuff for AP Biology. “He wouldn’t listen. Well, he would when I said it. Sometimes we’d fight about it and sometimes he’d let it go and just be a piss baby for the rest of the day and not talk to me. But then it would just happen all over again the next time he, like, saw a tiny part of my belly when I took my sweatshirt off or something.”

Jo chuckles under her breath. “That’s all it took?”

“Yes!” I say shrilly. “I’m telling you!” Both the girls start laughing now. “He started getting these _really_ uncomfortable boners. Like, once I’d tell him no, they’d just be…sitting there. Under his pants. Looking at me.”

“Sick!” Madge giggles. “Stop talking about it like that!”

We can’t stop laughing, even as we walk to our first classes after the first bell rings. When it’s time for me to part from them and go into bio, they both make their hands into binoculars around their eyes and pretend to be Gale’s boner looking at me, googly eyes and all. I sit down at my lab station with a smile.

The smile doesn’t last that long, though. At lunch, I can feel Gale’s stare on me the entire time, even as Madge and Johanna tried to distract me, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I go through the rest of the day in a haze and only snap out of it once I’m able to leave the building and head to Mezzo for the hour break I have before I have to go pick Prim up.

I sit there at a table in the back corner and think about how next week I’ll be picking my job at the tailor shop to make some extra money both for myself and to help Dad out if he needs it. It’s not my passion in life, but I know how to work a sewing machine so it’s not hard. And talking to the customers is easy enough since they’re mostly all ancient. When that starts, I’ll have to somehow juggle school, work, my sister, and soccer all at once. It’s a blessing in disguise that I don’t have Gale to worry about, because he probably wouldn’t fit in my schedule anyway.

I stay lost in my own head for the entire hour that I sit in the coffee shop, and then leave to go pick up my sister. She’s happy to see me as usual, bouncing up and down with a backpack full of documents to be signed by Dad to bring back tomorrow. She doesn’t stop talking the whole way home, and I wish that I still felt the way that she does; not weighed down by a single worry, nothing on her mind except how much fun she had today. She’s lucky.

When we get home, Mom is sleeping upstairs and Dad isn’t home yet. I make Prim a snack and she sits at the table and eats it while I unpack my backpack from the first day. Of course I have homework, so I sit down across from her and start to do it with half of my bottom lip between my teeth as I concentrate.

When Dad gets home, he ruffles mine and Prim’s hair and gives us each a kiss on top of the head. “How are my girls?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say, keeping my eyes on my paper.

“Really good!” Prim says enthusiastically.

“Good to hear,” he says. “How about I start some dinner?”

Prim agrees, then hops up from her chair to follow him into the kitchen. I gather my things up in my arms, then move to my room to finish my work by myself.

 

The rest of the week passes in a blur, though by the end of it my morale is starting to look up. Gale hasn’t stopped staring me down at lunch or in the hallways, but I’ve gotten much better at ignoring him and focusing more on what matters; which are my friends, school, soccer and work. I got my schedule for the tailor shop and I work on Mondays, Wednesdays and Sunday nights; which doesn’t interfere with my practice schedule at all.

After school on Monday, when I’m walking Prim home she asks, “Will you watch a movie with me?”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I have enough time to drop you off, then I have to leave for work.”

“To do what?” she asks.

“Stitch, remember?” I ask. “I worked in the dress shop last year too. People bring me their broken clothes and I help fix them up.”

“Oh, yeah.” She nods, accepting my answer but still sounding disappointed.

I drop her off inside and take a quick second to change my clothes into worn-in jeans and a soccer t-shirt from last year. The job doesn’t require a uniform; it’ll just be me in the shop and customers whenever they stop in. It’s not exactly a demanding or high-traffic sort of place. I sit there, wait for people to drop their clothes off, and fix stuff in the meantime. If there isn’t anything to fix or if they’re items that are too advanced for me, I just bring homework to do.

I wave my dad and Prim goodbye and tell them I’ll be home later as I hurry back out the door. I walk the short distance to the tailor shop and the little bell rings as I walk inside, and the person who I’m relieving gives me a smile as we trade places. We don’t exchange any conversation, I just sit down in the seat they vacated and wait for someone to come in.

A few people do as the night passes by. A middle-aged woman in need of her daughter’s communion dress to be sewn, a different woman with a tear in her winter coat, and a man with a hem needed. When the entrance bell rings for the fourth time tonight, I’m hunched over the sewing machine, keeping the communion dress steady with one hand as the other threads the needle through.

I sense the person hovering by the doorway before I can lift my head up. “One sec,” I say, not loudly. The place is small; I could have a normal-sounding conversation with someone right as they walk in. “Be right with you. Just have to finish this.”

It takes me just a moment or two longer before I can take a break from the dress. When I look up, I see a boy standing in the doorway that I recognize from my one day of theater camp, a flannel shirt bunched between his fists.

“Hey,” I say, giving him a nod and a slight smile. “What’s up? We had theater camp together, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Hey, Katniss.”

My gut sinks when I can’t remember his name. I don’t respond for a second; I’m at a loss for words and don’t know where to go from here.  

“It’s Peeta,” he says, realizing the reason for my silence. He flashes me a forgiving smile and I can’t hide my embarrassment.

“God, I’m sorry,” I say, and reach my arms out for his shirt. He looks confused for a second, like he forgot why he came in here, but then it dawns on him and he hands the shirt over.

“It’s really long,” he explains. “I need it taken up, if you do that.”

“Definitely can do that,” I say, making check marks on a little sheet that I pin to the shirt. “I can have it done by Wednesday, and you can pick it up any time after that.”

He nods, shoving his hands deep into his jeans pocket. “Sounds good,” he says, and swings one leg in the direction of the door.

“Nice to see you again,” I call out after his back has already been turned to me.

“You, too,” he says as he’s walking out the door.

I duck my head as the door shuts, hating that someone from school saw me working here. Up until this point, no one but Madge and Jo knew that I make extra money working as a seamstress, and I had wanted to keep it that way. It's just easier that way. It could be worse, though, because at least he’s a new kid. At least it wasn't someone like Cato. 

The rest of the night passes slowly as I work on some of the backorders that arrived before I came in. When it’s time to close up, I flip the sign around on the door and shut the lights off, then put my fall jacket on for the walk home.

The next day on the walk to school, my backpack is heavy with my practice clothes. “When you get out of school, come to the soccer fields,” I tell Prim. Last year, Gale would go over to the elementary school and bring her to me. Just like last year when, instead of Mezzo after our school got out and before hers did, and I would hang out at his house – that routine is no longer. I don’t have his help anymore and she’s going to have to learn how to get to me on her own.

“I don’t know where those are,” she says, sounding nervous.

“You do,” I say. “Gale brought you over last year, every Tuesday and Thursday. And you’d come to games.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t remember going to games.”

“You did,” I insist.

“Why can’t Gale bring me now?” she asks, dragging her feet in rebellion.

“I’m not his friend anymore, I told you that,” I snap. “I’m not going to ask him to do that.”

“Why?”

“We don’t talk anymore,” I say. “He’s not a nice person. I don’t want him around me or you.”

“He was a nice person to me,” she says. “So that means he should take me.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I say, and grab her wrist a bit forcefully. She glares at me reproachfully, but I don’t loosen up. “Just do this one thing for me _please_. You’re not a baby. You’re eight. You can remember how to get to the soccer fields if I show you, because I have practice right after my school gets done until 5. And you’re not walking all the way home without me.” I release her wrist and she pulls it to her chest. “Can you do that?”

“Hmph,” she pouts. “You hurt me.”

“Prim, please,” I roll my eyes as we walk up to the school campus and pass the fields. “Here’s where you need to go. It’s not far from your building, you can even see it from here. I want you here by 4, which is fifteen minutes after you get out. Can you do that for me, please?” She hesitates, but nods eventually. “Thank you.” I walk her to the front door and don’t go inside to join her for breakfast because I know she won’t want me to.


	3. Chapter 3

**KATNISS**

The days at school have been getting easier. Today flies by and before I know it, it’s 2:45 and I’m gathering my backpack filled with homework from my locker and toting it to the girls’ locker room, where I meet up with my varsity soccer team for our first practice.

The girls on the team are close friends of mine, but we never spend time together outside of things that have to do with soccer. I trust them and sometimes we can read each other’s minds during plays, but I get sick of people easily. Madge and Johanna are enough for me.

“Hey, Katniss,” my captain, Sarah, says. She’s got one cleated foot on the wooden bench between the two rows of lockers as she ties up her shoes and adjusts her knee-length socks. “Missed you over the summer.”

“You, too,” I say, and let my heavy soccer bag fall to the ground with a big thump. I busy myself by pulling out my shorts and practice jersey out as the rest of the team files in. There are 17 of us in total, but I’m not the most social butterfly.

Christina and Ellie sit on either side of me on the bench and talk over my head as I pull off my school shirt and slip the canvas jersey on. I tune them out as it flutters down comfortably; fitting close while still giving me room to breathe, and then pull my hair back into a tight French braid before changing into my black shorts.

Once everyone is dressed, we head out onto the field with our water bottles in tow. Coach Boggs is already out there waving us over, indicating with his hand motions for us to hustle.

Tryouts were in August and I had kept my head low but done well, and obviously made the team. Gale had come with me and cheered me on at first, but then he got bored and spent the rest of the time on his phone. When we went and looked at the list and saw my name, though, he had lifted me over his shoulder in celebration and carried me all the way out to his car.

My eyebrows crease down into a frown as I think about one of our last happy memories together. I don’t want to remember him right now, or any time for that matter.

I throw myself into the drills during practice, only looking up into the bleachers when Prim gets here. She looks insecure and nervous, clutching the straps of her backpack as she walks purposefully into the stadium, but then excitedly waves to me once she sits down. I wave back to her and do my best at a smile, then push myself hard for suicides.

When practice is over, I don’t bother changing out of my clothes to walk home with my sister, not even my cleats. I meet up with her and give her a weak hug, tossing one of my limp noodle arms over her shoulders.

“Sorry for snapping earlier,” I say, all energy drained from my voice.

  
“It’s okay,” she says. “I liked watching you play. You’re really good still!”

“Thanks,” I breathe, and keep my arm around her for the whole walk home.

 

On Wednesday after school, I’m back in the tailor shop. I have AP Bio homework open in front of me, and I’m chewing on the end of my pen like my life depends on it. When the door opens, I hear the bell in the very back of my mind, but my concentration is so heavily focused on the problems of the worksheet that I don’t get jarred out of my zone until I hear my name.

“Uh, hi, Katniss.”

I snap my head up and, with a startled expression, see Peeta standing right in front of me. I press my hand to my heart and let out a long breath, willing my pulse to slow down from how much he scared me. “You made me jump,” I say. “Surprised me.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “I’m…uh, I’m just here to pick up my shirt.”

“Right, right,” I say, and push out my chair to stand up. I go into the back and pick his shirt from the rack; I had finished it the night he dropped it off. I carry it back and then hand it over, processing his payment as we make light conversation.

“Was it an easy fix?” he asks.

“Oh, totally,” I say, swiping his card through our ancient machine. We badly need an update, this thing goes down way too much and takes forever to load. “Just took up the hem. It was like, the first thing I learned how to do.” I give him a smile, and then flick my eyes back to the machine.

“How long have you been working here?” he asks, looking around the place.

I watch him as he looks around. The blonde of his hair has darkened slightly since the summer, turning into more of a gold instead of the sand it had been before. I don’t think I ever caught the color of his eyes during the one day we spent together, but now I can’t help but notice that they’re the most crystalline, pure blue that I’ve ever seen. They’re different than my sister’s; hers are so deep that they’re close to sapphire. His are more like sky blue, standing out against the light trail of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones.

“This’ll be my third year,” I say.

“Do you like sewing?” he asks.

I shrug. “It’s okay, and I’m pretty good at it.” His card finally goes through and I hand it back to him. “You can see for yourself, I guess. Hope you like how it turned out.”

He gives me a half-smile that I find myself wanting to hold onto. “I’m pretty sure I will.”

He turns around and walks to the door, but turns around and looks at me over his shoulder before stepping out. “Bye, Katniss,” he says.

“See you,” I say, and raise one hand in a wave.

**PEETA**

School doesn’t change. I go through each day with my head down, trying to stay out of the way of Cato and his group of bullies. During passing time between classes, I stay pretty safe and under their radar. I’ve found routes around the hallways that they don’t use. After school, though, when I’m on my way to the bakery is when most of the shit happens. They all stand in a group at the end of the senior hallway, and there’s no other way for me to get out than to go through them.

I went school shopping as soon as I could, but overestimated my size and the few new shirts that I bought are too long. My dad told me about the tailor shop in town, so I have one of the shirts in my backpack to take there after I’m done at the bakery.

I duck my head and try to walk as quickly as possible through the thick group of people. For a second I think I’ve made it through until I feel myself being tugged backwards by my backpack and then shoved forward again so my feet stumble over themselves. Luckily, I don’t fall and make an even bigger fool of myself, but it does take a second for me to regain my balance.

“See you tomorrow, princess,” Cato calls after me, and I hunch my shoulders up and keep walking. “Have fun baking cookies with your daddy!”

I burst out of the front doors of the school and can feel my face heating up with anger. I bunch my fists at my sides and throw open the front door to my car, then throw my backpack inside with all the force I can muster. It works a little bit at helping me release my pent-up rage, but it doesn’t resolve the problem.

I drive to the bakery and change shirts as I sit in the parking lot. When I walk inside, Dad is behind the counter adding some items to the display case, and he waves in my direction. “Hey,” he calls out.

“Hey,” I say back, and pull my apron from the hook on the wall. I tie it around my neck and around my waist, then join my dad behind the counter.

“How was your day?” he asks, sliding the display case shut again.

I shrug.

“You haven’t talked much about school since we moved here,” he says. “You making any friends?”

I shake my head. “No,” I say. “Pretty much the opposite, actually.”

  
“What do you mean?”

I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

I start to walk to the back, but Dad stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, and his eyebrows are furrowed with concern. “You don’t seem like yourself lately.”

I shake him off gently, rolling my arm back just enough so his hand falls. “Do you mind if I just work in the back today, start baking tomorrow’s cakes? I had a bad day.”

He stares at me for a long time, but eventually nods. “Go ahead,” he says.

Once my shift is over, I feel depleted. I don’t like hiding things from my dad, like how I’m being bullied for the first time ever at school for reasons that I don’t even understand, but I don’t want him making a bigger deal out of it than he already is. I’m almost eighteen years old; I can get through it on my own. My worst nightmare would be him intervening and trying to do something to stop them. It would only make it worse.

I tell Dad that I’ll be home in a little while, then get in my car and head to the tailor shop. When I get there, the light’s on inside and I notice that there’s only one person sitting behind the front desk. Their head is bowed as they work on sewing something, so I try not to be too startling when I walk inside.

“Be right with you. Just have to finish this,” she says, and I recognize her right away.

Bent over the sewing machine with her tongue sticking out between her lips is no one else but Katniss Everdeen. My heart clogs my throat and I have the sudden urge to turn right around and run as fast as I can away from here, but I force my feet to stay anchored to the ground. There’s no one else in this tiny building, she’s going to have no choice but to interact with me. That is, once she lifts her face away from the sewing machine. I almost don’t want her to, but I take that thought back once she actually does. Her gray eyes seem brighter than before, standing out against her dark brown hair. Her lithe fingers are still poised over the article of clothing she’d been working on, and even in their thoughtless position they look like a work of art. Her whole entire being is art, there’s no denying that.

She blinks at me; her long, inky eyelashes grazing her skin. It’s almost like she’s moving in slow motion; I feel like I have so much time to study her. There’s a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her face, and I want more than anything else to be able to brush my finger against her skin and move it away, but there might not be anything creepier than doing that.

“Hey,” she says, nodding at me. Her lips pull up in a slight smile, and my stomach jumps. “What’s up? We had theater camp together, right?”

Oh, god. I didn’t really expect her to remember me, so I’m floored when she does. We only spent one day together; it would’ve been totally realistic for her not to remember who I am.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my cool. My hands need something to do, so I inconspicuously twist the flannel shirt I brought. “Hey, Katniss.” The expression in her eyes changes minutely, and her lips part just slightly but no sound comes out. I cover for her after realizing she probably doesn’t remember my name. “It’s Peeta,” I say. I smile at her to show her that it’s okay, but her cheeks flush pink anyway.

I feel like I could die. I made her blush.

“God, I’m sorry,” she says, reaching her arms out towards me. It takes me a second to realize that she’s going for the shirt, but I eventually hand it over.

“It’s really long,” I say, before she can even ask what’s wrong with it. “I need it taken up, if you do that.” I want to smack myself. Of course she does that. It’s a tailor shop.

“Definitely can do that,” she says, her face downturned again as she writes in shorthand on a little slip of paper that she attaches to my shirt. “I can have it done by Wednesday, and you can pick it up any time after that.”

I nod and feel the urge to stay, but know I shouldn’t. Without knowing what else to do with my hands, I bury them in my pockets and hunch my shoulders. “Sounds good,” I say, and start towards the door.

“Nice to see you again,” she says, as my back is turned to her.

My heart leaps. My mouth grows dry, but I will enough saliva to be able to speak. Luckily, I’m able to say, “You, too.”

I hurry home and walk in as my mom and dad are sitting down at the table for dinner. Dad waves at me, and Mom narrows her eyes in my direction. “Where’ve you been?” she asks, setting her fork down.

“Oh, I was uh, getting a shirt fixed,” I say. “At the tailor’s.”

“I could’ve fixed your shirt without you having to pay money to have it done,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Why did you go spend money on that?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“And what’s with the dopey smile on your face?”

I had felt myself smiling when I walked through the door, but it had faded from my face as soon as the third degree started. “I don’t know,” I say again.

“What _do_ you know?” she retorts, and my dad sets a hand on her wrist.

“Leave him be,” he says gently, then meets my eyes. “You want some dinner?”

I shake my head quickly. “I’m good. Not hungry. Night.” I try to force a smile, then I disappear up the stairs and into my room.

Once the door is shut, I collapse on my bed and hold my head in my hands. Nothing feels like it’s going right, and I can’t stand the way my life has been since we moved. I don’t even feel like the same person anymore, and no one looks at me in the same way as they used to. My mom and I have always butted heads, but it was never anything like this. It’s like she blames me for having to uproot our lives, when I’m suffering just as many consequences as she is. Probably more. But she’ll never know about that. I just wish I had someone who knew; someone who I could talk to.

I change into my pajamas and sit at my desk to get some homework done. I feel myself nodding off while reading _Jane Eyre_ for AP Lit, so I close the book and turn in for the night.

On Wednesday, I wake up nervous thinking about the fact that tonight I’ll be going back to the tailor shop to see Katniss again and pick up my shirt. The day luckily passes quickly, and I smile through my whole shift at the bakery and my dad doesn’t ask any questions. By the time closing comes around, I practically rip my apron off and throw it on the hook so I can hurry to go see her.

I pull up and wait in my car for a second so I can gather my thoughts. I don’t want to look crazy, I want to look nonchalant and casual. She probably doesn’t think I’m cool, but I don’t want her to think I’m a spaz either.

I walk in and smile to myself as I see Katniss chewing on her pen like a maniac and staring down at her homework like the intensity of her gaze might solve it. I don’t want to break her concentration, but I have to.

“Uh, hi, Katniss.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out so disjointed, but it’s already out there. I vow to myself to stammer as little as possible. Even though I’m the farthest thing from it, especially around her, I want to come off as confident.

Her head lifts up quickly and she presses a hand to her heart. “You made me jump,” she says, letting out a long breath. “Surprised me.”

I immediately feel guilty. I thought she would hear the door open. “Oh, sorry,” I say. “I’m…uh, I’m just here to pick up my shirt.” I curse myself for the pauses and extra words. This is not how I want to sound.

“Right, right,” she says, and hurries up from her chair and out of view. I hear some rustling around in the back, and then she returns with it in her arms. She stands in front of me and hands me the shirt, then relaxes with her hip popped to one side. As we stand in closer proximity than we ever have up until this point, it’s hard not to catch a whiff of how she smells; like vanilla and flowers. I take advantage of the small moment between us and talk before it gets awkwardly silent.

“Was it an easy fix?” I ask, as I hand her my card to pay.

She goes through the steps of processing it as she replies. “Oh, totally,” she says. “Just took up the hem. It was like, the first thing I learned how to do.” She flashes me a smile, and I almost collapse to the ground.

“How long have you been working here?” I ask, desperate to keep the conversation going. I don’t want to stop talking to her. Not only is it the first normal human interaction I’ve had in weeks, it just so happens to be with the girl who I have the biggest crush on.

I survey the little building. It’s not much, but it’s pretty cute and it looks like it does the job for what it’s here for. When I look back to her, I see that she’s already been looking at me.

“This’ll be my third year,” she says.

I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “Do you like sewing?” Idiot. Fucking idiot.

She shrugs, seemingly not fazed by my stupid question. “It’s okay, and I’m pretty good at it.” My card goes through and she hands it back to me. She nods toward my shirt. “You can see for yourself, I guess. Hope you like how it turned out.”

I smirk at her involuntarily. “I’m pretty sure I will,” I say. I don’t know if I’m flirting, but I hope I am. I turn around to leave, and just as my hand is on the door I look over my shoulder and say, “Bye, Katniss.”

She waves at me and replies, “See you.”

I sit in my car for a long moment, just going over the whole scene that had just played out. My whole body feels light. Now she finally knows who I am, and maybe we can have a start at being friends. I don’t want to get my hopes up in being anything more. Friends is good enough for me. She probably wouldn’t be interested in being anything more with me, anyway. I don’t need to ask for anything more.

I go in through the back door when I get home to avoid conversation with my parents, and head straight up to my room. I take the shirt out of its bag to hang up in my closet, and am suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of vanilla and flowers. The smell hits me like a wave, and I widen my eyes and blink them hard to make sure I’m not having some sort of olfactory hallucination. For a split second I wonder where that smell – Katniss’s smell – is coming from, but then I figure it out.

It’s my shirt.

I tentatively lift it up to my nose and breathe in, and have to steady myself after. She worked on it and her perfume or shampoo or whatever she uses to make her smell like that must have soaked into it.

I feel creepy standing in the middle of my room smelling my own shirt that happens to smell like the girl of my dreams, so I toss it down onto my bed, away from me.

My brain is going crazy. I need someone to talk to, and the only person who I can think of is my big brother, Abe.

I dial his number and hope he’s not doing anything too important on a school night. Luckily, he picks up and sounds happy when he answers.

“Hey, Peeta!” he says.

“Hey, Abe,” I say back.

“What’s up? How are you?” he asks. “Haven’t heard from you in a while. How’s the new school?”

I plop down on my bed just inches away from the shirt. I know I probably won’t ever wear it now. “It’s okay,” I lie, and then take it back. “Actually, no. It fucking sucks.”

I tell him in great detail about Cato and his groupies that jack off on picking on me. There’s no one else who I can tell this to, so Abe gets the brunt of all my life’s woes.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. “Now I remember why I do not miss high school.”

I hang my head. “I’m not looking for advice or anything,” I say. “I just don’t have anyone to talk to here.”

“No friends yet?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Any girls?”

  
I debate lying, but come to the conclusion that it’s not worth it. Abe and I have always been the closest between the three of us, so I have no reason to keep anything from him. “Uh, yeah, actually,” I say, a bit quieter than before.

“Yeah?” he asks, his interest piqued.

“Yeah,” I say. “She’s…” I sigh. “It’s not like, reciprocated or anything. But she’s really, really beautiful, and like… I have zero chance with her. But I think we might be friends, or something like that. I don’t know.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he says, but leaves it at that. “What does she look like?”

“She’s kind of small,” I say. “Long brown hair, really cool gray eyes. She works at the tailor shop and I just came from there, actually.”

“You see her?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“You guys talk?”

I chuckle. “I mean, yeah, a little. Small talk and stuff.” I choose not to tell him about the shirt and how much it smells like her, and that I just stood in my room and breathed it in. That would be going one step too far. We’re brothers, but I know Abe would draw the line at creepy right about there.

“Well, the answer is obvious,” he says. “You have to keep going in there.”

I scrunch up my face, though I’m aware he can’t see me. “What?”

“Find things that need to be fixed. Go to fucking Goodwill if you have to, get shitty shirts and bring them in to her. You need a reason to talk to her, right?”

“Yeah…”

“So you need to find something. Don’t let her forget about you. You’re better than that, come on. If you keep going in, she’s gonna know you care.”

“Or she’s gonna know I’m creepy.”

“Or that. But if she’s as cool as you make her seem, she’ll see it the other way,” he says. “You never know what could happen.”

“I guess,” I say.

“Trust me. Just do it. Find cheap shirts. Bring them to her. Sit back and watch a budding romance bloom.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Okay, I’m hanging up now. See you at Thanksgiving.”

I hang up with a smile on my face. I feel a lot better after having someone to talk to, and I think I might just have to follow his advice.

I fall asleep with the shirt bunched down by my knees, but I can still smell her.

 

After school the next day, I make a trip to Goodwill and try to find a couple shirts to bring to Katniss that would be realistic for me to actually wear. It proves to be harder than I thought, and by the end of it I just end up picking out three random ones and hoping they turn out okay.

I debate when to go back into the tailor shop without it seeming weird. Today would be way too soon, but I doubt she works on Friday nights. I decide to go sometime over the weekend and hope that she’s there, because if she’s not then it’s all for nothing and not worth it in the first place.

On Friday at school, I’m feeling happier than I have in a while. For the first time since moving here, I have something to look forward to. It’s stupid and really small, but at least it’s something.

In gym, the volleyball unit is over and we’re onto our basic conditioning section. It consists of a lot of running around the upstairs track, lifting weights and complaining about it, at least from everyone who isn’t me or Cato and his group of idiots. The latter is living for this segment because it’s all they know how to do.

I don’t shy away from lifting weights, either. In fact, it’s something that I excel at, too, because of all the heavy lifting I’ve had to do at the bakery over the years. Plus, it’s something that I can do alone without having to worry about any teammates or partnering up. It’s the least embarrassing thing that Mr. Abernathy has forced me into so far.

I’m in the middle of doing a back squat with the bar over my shoulders, holding a good amount of weights on either side. My face is scrunched up with concentration as I come up from the ground when I hear a soft voice next to me.

“Hey, Peeta.”

Standing at my full height now, I set the bar on the rack and wipe the sweat away from my forehead as I turn to look at her. Katniss is standing alone next to me, dressed in black athletic shorts and a loose heather gray t-shirt that says ‘OHS Soccer’ on it. She’s holding her arms in front of her body, one hand clasping the opposite wrist at about hip-level. She has a small smile on her face; one just big enough to light up her eyes.

“Hey,” I say back, and right when it comes out I wish I would’ve thought of something more intelligent to say.

She turns slightly over her shoulder, and I follow her gaze to where her friends are turning on the treadmills. “See you later,” she says, raising one hand in a tiny wave.

“See you,” I reply, and then stare intently at the bar I had just set down as she walks away. I wonder if I should’ve asked her when she works next, or if that would've been too much. I don’t spend too much time lingering on it, though, because I’m happy just knowing that she noticed me.

After school as I’m walking out of the building, I go through the arts hallway and stop when I hear sound coming out of the choir room, right before the glass doors that lead outside. I can tell that it’s the meister singers who are in there from the mixtures of boys and girls; the only other choir is the treble choir and that one's made up of all girls.

I pause a good distance away from the doors and just listen, resting the back of my head against the painted concrete. They’re just ending a warmup – practice started only recently – and when I start to walk towards the doors to leave again, I see her.

Katniss is standing in the group of female singers closest to the door, looking down at a piece of sheet music that was handed to her with a concentrated frown on her face. When the teacher starts to play the piano, Katniss alone starts to sing all the while still staring down at her music, and I can’t help but stay and listen. I never knew that she could sing; there would be no way for me to know, but she is really good. Her voice lifts and carries through the closed door and settles in the quiet air of the hallway, and I stand in place until she’s sung her last note. Then I hunch my shoulders, pull on the straps of my backpack nervously, and hurry out to my car.

 

I wait until Sunday to bring another shirt into the tailor shop, and debate for almost half the day if I should go or not. I work my morning shift in the bakery and my dad notices that I’m distracted, but doesn’t say anything about it. I know he notices only because I catch him looking at me more than once when he thinks I can’t see him.

When 2 o’clock rolls around and my shift ends, I ball my apron up and throw it in this week’s laundry. “See you, dad,” I call out, and he waves me goodbye.

I stop home and change my clothes, I’m in and out before my mom can realize I’m even there, and then head back out. I had picked up a random one of the shirts from my chair in the corner of my room, and now it sits next to me in the passenger’s seat as I make my way through town.

I sit in the parking lot of the little shop for a few minutes with my stomach jumping from nerves. I finally get myself together enough to step out of my car and walk inside, and am met with a pleasant surprise when I do. Katniss is sitting behind the counter, hunched over a dress with a few needles sticking out from between her lips.

Her hair is falling in wavy tendrils around her face and her eyebrows are knitted together with concentration. It smells like her in this small space; the same vanilla and flowers from before. I smile to myself and then shut the door a bit loudly behind me, and her head jolts up from the clothes she had been focusing on.

“Oh, Peeta,” she says, her voice sounding pleasant and a bit surprised. “You’re back.”

I walk closer to her as she folds the dress into a sloppy square and sets it off to the side. “Yeah…” I say, showing her the shirt I brought. I’m getting a good look at it at the same time she is, and I see that it’s a bright yellow polo with the collar ripped in two places and a mysterious stain on the chest. “This shirt…”

“Has seen better days,” she laughs, and takes it from me. “Jeez, what did you do to it?”

I run one hand through my hair. “I… honestly don’t even know,” I say. “It needs you.”

“Seriously,” she says. “I’ll do my best.” She examines the stain, narrowing her eyes at it with the material centimeters away from her face. “Don’t know what I’ll be able to do about this, but I’ll try.”

“Thanks,” I say, and know I can’t leave yet. I don’t want to. “So, um…” I trail off, trying to think of what to talk about. I can think of a million things, but am suddenly self-conscious of every single one of them. “I heard you singing in the choir room after school on Friday.” As soon as I say it, I regret it. Is that weird? Is it stalker-ish? I don’t want her to think I’m creepy.

Her cheeks flush pink and she shakes her head. “You did?” She looks up to meet my eyes, and I nod.

“You sounded good,” I say.

She scoffs. “Doubtful.”

“No, you really did,” I insist.

“Well, thanks,” she says. “I have a solo for the fall concert, and I got the sheet music for the first time on Friday. I had literally never seen it before, so like…” She sighs and rolls her eyes at herself. “It probably wasn’t that good. It’ll be better eventually.”

“Do you like to sing?” I ask, and then hate myself again for asking such an obvious question. She wouldn’t be in choir if she didn’t like to sing.

She chuckles a little bit. “Yeah,” she says. “I guess. I’ve been like, singing for a lot of my life. Just for fun and stuff. My sister always tells me how good I am, and I’m okay. I guess.”

I shrug. “You sounded pretty good to me.”

“Well, I promise I can sound better,” she says with a smile. “You should come to the fall concert and hear me there. It’s in a couple weeks.”

My heart starts beating ten times faster. “Sure,” I say. “Definitely.”

There’s a small, silent moment shared between us where we just look at each other and smile, and then she grips my shirt tighter. “So, um, I’ll do my best on this.”

“Okay,” I breathe, and then make my way towards the door.

“I work on Wednesday,” she says. “Come back then. I’ll probably have it done.”

I smile again, I can’t help it. “Okay,” I say, then give her a wave as I walk out. “Bye, Katniss.”

“Bye.”

The whole walk to my car with my back turned to the little shop, I can’t keep the huge grin off my face.

 

In gym the next day, we’re running around the outdoor track as a class and I’m going pretty fast on my own. With my eyes directed towards the ground and my hood up to keep warm, it’s easy to get lost in my own head. So when I hear a voice right next to me, I can’t help but stumble a bit.

“Hey, Peeta.”

I look to my right and see Katniss running alongside me, keeping my pace easily. I flash her a breathless smile and she returns it, although hers comes much easier. “Hey,” I say.

“Can I run with you?” she asks. I nod. “Cool. My friends go way too slow.”

“Feel free,” I say, and we keep going steadily without exchanging any more conversation. Too soon, class ends and I lose her in the pack of students. When all of us head back inside, I see the back of her head amongst her big group of girlfriends, all talking animatedly about something I can’t hear. I make myself small as I head into the guys’ locker room, and go into a bathroom stall to change so Cato won’t torture me. Luckily, he’s distracted by something else today and doesn’t give me any grief, and I escape the gym without so much as a wayward glance in my direction.

On my way to lunch, I hear that all-too-familiar voice behind me again and flip around before she can even get my full name out of her mouth.

“Hey,” she says, breathless from running to catch up with me. She has numerous books held tight to her chest; her backpack nowhere in sight. “Mind if I sit with you today?”

“Oh…” I’m so caught off-guard that I don’t know what to say.

“It’s totally okay if you don’t. But…” She shrugs. “I’ve noticed you sitting alone for the past couple weeks and…” She shrugs again. “I mean, we’re kind of friends, right?”

I nod slowly. “Of course,” I say. “Yeah, it’d be nice to have some company. Do you want me to hold for you?” I gesture towards the books in her arms and she shakes her head.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she says. “I got them.”

“You have like, a million,” I say. “Let me help.” I take them from her arms and can see her shoulders visibly relax with relief once I do so. “I’ll just set them down at the table while you stand in line. I have cold lunch.”

“Okay,” she says. “Be back in a sec.”

I sit down at the half-moon shaped table and unfurl the brown paper bag that I packed with a croissant sandwich, Greek yogurt, a few cheese buns, and a couple squares of dark chocolate. I’m halfway through the sandwich when she makes her way over to me, square piece of pizza on her plate with a carton of chocolate milk in one hand.

“Don’t hate on me,” she says as she sits. “But I love this school pizza.” She takes a bite and then smiles through it. “What? Stop staring. I know it’s like, mostly plastic probably. And I’ll most likely die from it really early. But it tastes good!”

“I’m not hating, I’m not hating,” I say, laughing.

“Have you ever tried it?” she asks. I shake my head. “What? You’re fucking kidding. You didn’t have the infamous square pizza at your old school?”

“No,” I say. “We didn’t have that.”

“You guys must’ve been savages over there or something,” she says. “Where did you go again?” I tell her, and can tell she has no idea where it is. “Well, you gotta learn someday. Better make that day today.” She extends her pizza out to me, holding the crust in one hand and using the other to keep it from dripping down onto the table.

“Oh, god, no I couldn’t take your prized pizza away from you,” I say, eyeing her. She’s laughing.

“Come on, just try it. Don’t make excuses.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I say, and replace her hand that had been holding onto the crust. She keeps the other one as a catch-all as I take a bite, and then pulls it away as I chew.

“So?”

I scrunch up my face. “This tastes like cardboard and you’re fucking nuts.”

She busts up laughing; her eyes turn into tiny slits and she throws her head back so her whole neck is exposed. I haven’t seen her so free up until this point.

“I guess I’m just used to it,” she says, still giggling as she finishes the piece of pizza.

“That’s gonna have to change,” I say after I finish my sandwich. I dig the cheese buns out of my paper bag and then offer her one. “Try one of these.”

“Oh no, I don’t wanna steal your food,” she says, the straw of her chocolate milk still in her mouth.

“I have plenty,” I say. “Me and my dad make these all the time.”

“Oh, I almost forgot that you own the new bakery!” she says excitedly.

“Well, my dad does,” I say, my voice noticeably lower. “I get enough shit for just working there.”

She crinkles her eyebrows. “What? Who?”

I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

She crosses her arms on the tabletop while holding the cheese bun I offered in one hand. “Is it that shithead, Cato?” My silence apparently tells her everything she needs to know. “God, he can’t ever leave anyone alone. He just moves from one person to the next. Before you came, him and his stupid ass group of idiots had some other target.” She cracks her knuckles seemingly out of habit, but makes it seem like it’s for effect. “Do you want me to say something? He doesn’t really mess with me.”

“No,” I say adamantly. “No, don't do that. It's okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, turning over the cheese bun.

“Completely sure,” I repeat.

She raises her eyebrows with a shrug and then takes a bite out of the pastry. “Holy shit, Peeta, this is _really_ good,” she says, and her eyelids flutter. “Damn. You made this?”

“Yep,” I say proudly, and dig in my bag to have one myself. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Better than pretty good,” she says, and relishes her last few bites. “I’m gonna need like, a hundred more.”

I laugh and hand her the last one that I had just taken a bite out of. “Here, you can have mine.”

“Oh, no!” she says, hands up. “I was kidding. You have that.”

“You totally weren’t kidding,” I say, discovering some hidden confidence. “Have it. Like I said, I can make them anytime.”

She looks at me bashfully and then takes it from me, taking slow bites to make it last longer than her last one. “Now I know I’m gonna have to stop by your bakery just to get some of these,” she says. “My sister would love them. Do you guys do any white chocolate stuff? She’s totally crazy over that.”

  
“Yeah, we do,” I say, making a mental note. “You guys should stop in. I can make her something on the house.”

“No way,” she says. “We’d pay you.”

“You can insist all you want, but we don’t make friends pay.”

She gives me a look I can’t quite interpret. “Be careful. Prim is going to fall in love with you.”

I chuckle and look down at the table. “Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**KATNISS**

As I walk to class after lunch, Madge, Jo and our other friend April all catch up with me.

“Where were you at lunch?” April asks.

Jo eyes me as I replace my books from the first half of the day with the ones I’ll need for my afternoon classes. “She was sitting with the new kid,” she says.

“She was?” Madge asks.

“You were?” April echoes.

“His name’s Peeta, guys,” I say, and slam my locker shut with a loud clang.

As I walk, they all trail behind me and are left in a confused silence for a moment. “Why didn’t you sit with us?” Madge asks. “We always sit together.”

“He sits alone every single day,” I say.

“But…” April begins. “No offense, but you’re not that…nice.”

I laugh. “Come on.”

“Katniss,” Jo says seriously. “ _You_ come on.”

“Okay, okay, so I’m not that friendly, and?” I say. “I have a heart.”

“Why him?” April asks.

“What do you mean, why him?” I ask, as we ascend the stairs to the second floor.

“There’ve been tons of new kids every year. You haven’t ever cared about them before,” April says.

I shrug, my eyes widening. “I don’t know. I also don’t know why you’re like, grilling me right now.”

“We’re just asking questions,” Madge says.

“That’s called grilling,” I snap back.

“Whoa,” Jo says. “Bitch much?”

“Sorry,” I grumble. “Me and Peeta, we’re kind of friends. He came into my work.”

“The sewing shop?” Madge says, too loudly.

“Shut _up_ ,” I hiss, glancing around. I’m not a huge fan of people knowing I work there; it’s embarrassing. The reputation I’ve upheld at school isn’t exactly one that holds true to who I really am.

“Oh, sorry,” she says.

“Yes, duh, the tailor shop,” I say, much quieter. “He needed a shirt fixed. A couple of them. And I met him before, over the summer.”

“You did?” Jo asks. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because it didn’t matter?” I say, and now my classroom is in sight. “It was the stupid theater camp thing that I ditched. We had it together for like, a day. But he’s cool. He’s really nice. And he works at that new bakery. His dad owns it.”

April raises her eyebrows dubiously. “The bakery?”

“Stop looking like that,” I say. “What’s wrong with the bakery?”

“Seems girly,” Jo says.

“Well, it’s not,” I say defensively. “He bakes shit better than you ever could. And he can lift like, 100 pounds of flour over his head.” That last part I totally made up, but they all buy it.

“Okay, random,” Madge says.

I sigh exasperatedly. “I gotta go,” I say. “See you guys later.”

 

I find myself looking up every few minutes as I sit behind the desk at the tailor shop on Wednesday evening, waiting for Peeta to show up. He comes just when I’m not expecting him, but I hear him come in the door as I’m in the back gathering my next project. I can tell it’s him just by his heavy footsteps.

“Be right there!” I call out, and then come around the corner with a pile of clothes stacked high in my arms.

“Need help?” he asks, and then comes around to take half of it from me. We both set the load down on the counter and come up with smiles on our faces.

“Thanks,” I say, and lean forward on my hands. “Oh, right, your shirt!” I don’t know why I pretended like I forgot why he came in when I’d been looking forward to his arrival all night. I shake my head at myself as I go into the back and grab his shirt, which I fixed up almost perfectly. “I got most of it,” I say, as I hand it back to him.

“Looks good to me,” he says, and tucks it under his arm. “I actually, uh, I brought another one, too, if that’s okay.”

I chuckle a little bit, raising my eyebrows as I make strong eye contact with him. “I’m starting to think that you’re just finding these random ass shirts,” I say. “Just so you can come see me.”

I’ve never seen a blush so powerful as the one that floods his cheeks. “No,” he says, much too quickly. “That’s so…Katniss, come on.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s stupid. My shirts are shitty quality and you’re…good at fixing them. Who else am I supposed to bring them to? I’m not…” He scoffs. “I’m not bringing them just to see you. I don’t even…” He shakes his head. “No. No.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, shifting my weight dramatically to one hip. “Sounds legit.”

“It is!” he insists, his voice rising in pitch drastically. He clears his throat. “It is.”

“Hand it over, then,” I say, and snap my fingers towards the balled up shirt in his hands. He tosses it to me and I snap it out, to see that it’s a mechanic’s shirt with the name ‘ _Randy_ ’ stitched in cursive above the chest pocket. I start to laugh. “I bet this color looks great on you, Randy,” I say amidst my giggles.

His eyebrows screw up in confusion. “What?”

I turn the shirt around so he can see the name. “I didn’t know Peeta was short for Randy,” I say. “Interesting.”

His blush is back, and I’m secretly loving it. “It’s…” He searches for something to say, and I can see him struggling. “My dad’s,” he finally comes up with.

“Your dad’s name isn’t Randy,” I say. I remember that much from when my dad told me about their family. “It’s like, Steve or something.”

“They just gave it to him randomly,” he covers. “He used to work at a garage for a few months before the bakery really got off the ground, you know, in our old town. It was an extra shirt laying around.”

“And you really need the moth-eaten holes stitched up because it has that much sentimental value to you?” I ask, getting his goat.

He furrows his blonde brows. “Yes,” he says, trying to sound sincere. “I like it.”

“Like I said,” I say. “I’m sure this color looks great on you…Randy.”

He fake-glowers at me and hands over his debit card for the last shirt I fixed. “Shut up,” he says.

“Keep your damn money,” I say, and push his hand back. “That banana-yellow monstrosity is on the house.”

He smiles, but still avoids my eyes. He obviously hadn’t expected for me to call him out, I can tell that much. It’s not a bad uncomfortable though, I discover that it’s pretty fun to rile him up. “Thanks,” he says.

“Anything for Randy, my number one customer,” I say, and then reach across the counter to punch his shoulder.

“Leave me alone,” he says, throwing the words over his shoulders with a laughing tone in his voice as he heads out of my little shop.

“See you tomorrow!” I call out, and he turns around and smirks at me before getting in his car and driving away.

 

For the next couple days, Peeta and I fall into the routine of running together in gym and then sitting together at lunch. He brings me a cheese bun on Wednesday, and then two on Thursday. One for me and one to bring home and give to Prim, of course.

“So are you coming to pick up your shirt tonight, Randy?” I ask, getting up just as the lunch warning bell rings.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Yes,” he says. “I’ll be there. I just have to work my shift after school first.”

“Sounds good,” I say, and give him a big smile as we go our separate ways.

I practically jump out of my skin when Johanna appears beside me. “I haven’t seen you smile this much in your entire life,” she says, walking with me into the crowd of students as passing time starts.

“This just in,” I say sarcastically. “It is now a crime to be happy.”

“For you, it might as well be,” she says, scrutinizing. “Do you like him?”

“Yeah, he’s great,” I say, switching out my books for my afternoon classes.

“Don’t be a dumbass,” she says. “Do you _like_ like him?”

I let my forehead clang against the closed locker next to mine for dramatic effect. “Are we in middle school?” I ask. “Actually, you know what, my sister says that. And she’s in third grade. We’re in third grade now.” I point above Jo’s head. “Johanna’s a third grader, everyone.”

She pulls my arm down. “Subject changer.”

I widen my eyes. “Good one.”

“You _so_ have a crush on this guy,” she says, looking smug. “Avoiding the question like a fucking pro.”

“I’m not,” I say nonchalantly. “He’s my friend. He’s really sweet, smart and funny. That’s all, okay? That’s all. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Fine,” she says. “Just know that I’m right.”

“Whatever,” I say in a singsong tone. “Bye, Jo. Time for bio.”

 

That night, I have Peeta’s Randy shirt waiting and ready for him on the counter the whole night, but he takes forever to come in. He takes so long, that it gets close to closing time and I’m left with nothing to do. I end up finding a hole in the shirt that I’m wearing, so I take it off and head to the back dressed in just my bra and work on stitching it.

I don’t hear the door when he comes in, and for the first time I don’t hear his footsteps, either. He’s gotten pretty comfortable in the little shop, so the only way I know he’s arrived is when he appears right in front of me in the back room.

“Hey, Katn- oh, god, I’m sorry!” he says, and immediately covers his eyes and turns his back to me.

I drop my sewing supplies and grapple for something to cover myself with. I end up with a men’s dress shirt hanging on the rack, and pull it on over my head hastily.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I should’ve just waited; I didn’t think you heard me…”

“I didn’t,” I say. “It’s okay. Wow, you just really scared me. I’m sorry. Didn’t meant to be, um, indecent.”

“I didn’t mean to see you,” he says, and even as we go back to the front of the store he won’t look at me. “I didn’t mean to, gah, I’m really sorry.”

I take one look at him; head ducked, shoulders hunched, hands pressed to his face, and start chuckling.

“Stop laughing at me,” he says.

“I’m not laughing at you,” I say. 

If I’m not mistaken, he presses his hands harder against his face. “Making it worse.”

“I’m not mad,” I say. “Stop being sorry. It was accident. I mean, it could've been worse. At least I was wearing a bra.”

“God, don’t say it,” he says.

“What?” I ask. “Bra?” He laughs and nods his head. “Bra, really? Come on, Peeta. So immature.”

“I feel bad!” he says.

“Well, stop,” I say. “Just pretend it was a bathing suit. I’m _fine_.”

He uncovers his face and I see that his skin is blotchy all over. “Sorry,” he says.

“One more sorry and I’m ripping the Randy shirt in half. After all the hard work I did.”

That gets another laugh out of him. “But that’s my favorite shirt.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I say. “Don’t worry about paying for it. The fixes were tiny. Probably because there wasn’t really anything to fix in the first place.”

“Yes, there was,” he insists. “The moth holes. You said it yourself.”

“Hm,” I say, humoring him. “Whatever.” He still won’t look at me. “Peeta,” I say, and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t look up. “Peeta, you have to look at me eventually.”

He lifts his chin up but his eyes don’t meet mine.

“I’m clothed,” I say. “Promise.”

He sighs. “I feel like a total creep,” he says.

I lock eyes with him and start to turn the lights off. “It was just an accident!” I say. “Calm down. I’m not mad, so you don’t have any reason to be upset. You’re not a creep. You’re very stealthy and I was very zoned out.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, and walks me to the door. “And if you aren’t letting me pay, at least let me give you a ride home.”

I look at him warily as I lock the door behind us and stand out in the desolate parking lot next to him. The air has a bite to it that’s reminiscent of fall. It’s just started to get colder outside.

We live on the same street, there’s no reason for him not to drive me. But for some reason, I feel inexplicably nervous about getting in the car with him. Not bad nervous, either. Butterflies nervous. And that scares me more.

“Okay,” I agree, and get in on the passenger’s side. His car is nice; it’s a black Ford Fusion with plenty of legroom and clean seats. It’s the cleanest guy’s car I’ve ever seen, and it even smells good.

“I have an idea,” I say only a few minutes into our ride. The only other sound interrupting the silence was _24K Magic_ by Bruno Mars playing quietly on the radio, and Peeta had been bobbing his head along to the beat.

“What?” he asks.

“How about instead of hanging out in the crusty tailor shop every other day, we actually do something fun together?”

He seems interested. “Like what?” he asks.

I say the first thing that comes into my head. “There’s a football game tomorrow night. Do you want to go with me?” He gives me a look and I continue. “Just me. Not any of my crazy friends or anything. It’ll just be like, us hanging out. Chilling and stuff, watching the game.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding and smiling. “That sounds fun.”

“Awesome!” I say, and can’t keep the smile away.

I tell him what time it starts and he tells me that he’ll be by my house after his shift at the bakery so he can drive us both back to the school. He pulls up into my driveway after we’ve solidified our plans and shifts the car into park while watching me get unbuckled. “Excited for tomorrow,” he says, and I bend in half as I stand outside the car so I can see his eyes.

“Me, too!” I say enthusiastically. “See you in gym.” I trot into my house to find Prim sitting on the bottom step with a suspicious look on her face.

“You were in a car with a boy,” she states.

“And?” I ask, kicking my shoes off. “You’re up too late. Where’s dad?”

“He fell asleep early,” she says. “I was waiting for you.”

“Jeez,” I say, rolling my eyes to myself. “Did you eat anything?” She shakes her head, so I grab her gently by the shoulder and lead her to the kitchen. “Well, come on then. Let’s have some dinner.”

I tell her about Peeta over macaroni and cheese, and she soaks in my words with the amount of care only a little sister would have.

“Do you have a crush on him?” she asks, mirroring Johanna’s words from just hours ago.

But I look at Prim differently than I do Johanna. I carefully consider her question and let myself mull over my answer, because I’m really not sure. My emotions have always been difficult to reason with and hard to read. There’s no telling with them. “I don’t know,” I say, but I’m smiling. “I think. Maybe? I don't know." 

She squeals and claps her hands together, excited by my excitement. “You have a crush; you have a crush!” she sings.

“Shut up,” I say. “Don’t get all crazy. We’ll just see. Who knows, maybe I don’t. I’m just going to take things one step at a time and see how it goes.”

I help Prim get ready for bed and then tuck her in, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before shutting off her light and telling her not to read for too long. I head to my own room after brushing my teeth and, once I’m changed into my mismatched pajamas, lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I’m unable to keep my thoughts from wandering to Peeta.

A few weeks ago I barely knew who he was, and now I’m thinking about him before I fall asleep. I can’t help but smile as I picture his mortified face when he caught me changing earlier, and even chuckle a little bit out loud.

I’m pretty popular at school; it’d be naïve of me not to realize that. Even though we don’t have much money, no one really knows that or cares too much. I’ve always been well-liked, even though I’m not the nicest person you’ll ever meet. Because of this, plenty of guys have had crushes on me before. I know what a crush looks like, all different kinds of them. The guys act on them in different ways, and there have even been times that I’ve entertained a few of them. But with Peeta…this is the first time that I’ve ever been nervous about someone having feelings for me.

I think it might be because I feel something real for him in return.

When Peeta looks at me, he doesn’t see what everyone already thinks I am. He’s new, so he doesn’t know anything about me and I like that. He looks at me for what I really am; just imagining his blue eyes settling on me sends my heart into a tizzy and I have to screw my eyes shut as my cheeks heat up. He doesn’t look through me. He sees me.

 

Prim sits on the front porch with me the next evening as I wait for Peeta to come pick me up for the game. I’m wearing black leggings, tan winter boots and a navy blue Otsego sweatshirt with gold lettering – a soccer one of mine from last season, but spirited nonetheless. I French braided my hair and tied the end with a gold ribbon, which Prim is now running between her thumb and first finger.

“Is he late?” she asks, peering down the street. We can almost see his house from where we sit, so I don’t know why I don’t just walk over. I guess I’m not really sure if he’s coming from there, and I’m also feeling a little shy.

“No,” I say truthfully. “We’re early.”

“But we’re just sitting here.”

“You can go back inside if you want to,” I say. “I told you that.”

“I want to be with you,” she insists.

“Well then, okay,” I say.

“Can I come with?” she asks.

“Not this time,” I say for the tenth time, and lean forward with my elbows on my knees.

“Why?”

I sigh, trying to keep my exasperation in check. “Because,” I say. “I’m going with Peeta. Not Madge and Jo.”

“So?” she asks. “I know him.”

“It’s just not the same,” I say.

“Because you guys are going on a date?” she asks.

“No,” I say, then reword. “I don’t know. Can you just…” I roll my eyes and gesture with my hand. “With all the questions.”

She huffs. “I’m not even asking that much.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes until I see the black Ford Fusion cruising toward us. It pulls up in our driveway and when Peeta steps out, Prim beats me to the punch in greeting him.

“Hi, Peeta!” she says enthusiastically, bolting up from her spot on the steps and skipping over to him. She stands in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back, and I’m suddenly conscious of the dingy outfit she’s wearing. A pair of faded jeans with a hole in the knee that are just a little too long and a hoodie of mine from eighth grade that’s huge on her. She looks like the epitome of a scraggly kid, and I hope Peeta isn’t judging her. When I look at his face, though, I know I’m stupid for thinking he’d do such a thing. He’s wearing a huge grin as he looks down at my sister, and he pats her back when she hugs him.

“Sorry about her,” I say under my breath, walking up to him. “Ready to go?”

“Sure,” he says.

“Bye, Prim,” I say, and physically recoil with the force she huge me with.

“Will you come kiss me goodnight when you get home?” she asks, knowing that football games get out late.

“Yes,” I say. “But do not wait up for me. Go to bed at 8 if Dad doesn’t tell you. I left a couple DVDs out for you to pick from, and don’t go crazy on sugar. Promise?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, and gives me another hug before running back to the front step. “Bye!” she calls out as we drive away, waving one hand maniacally.

Peeta chuckles as we pull away from my house. “You sure went drill sergeant on her,” he says.

I stare out the window, my stomach jumping. “Sometimes our dad isn’t home at night. He works a lot. And she’s only eight, so…” I shrug. “She needs it.”

“So she really depends on you, huh?”

“I guess,” I say. “It’s always been like that. We’re used to it.”

“It’s sweet,” he says. “What about your mom?” Almost as soon as he says it, I can tell he wants to take it back. “That was pushy. I’m sorry, if you wanted to talk about it, you would have, and I-”

“Peeta,” I say, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I don’t care. My mom has bipolar,” I say. “Crash course on my life. She’s in bed a lot; she has more downs than ups. Honestly I prefer the downs. The ups can be scary, and they used to get Prim way too excited. They don't really happen that much anymore.” He nods pensively. “We’re used to that, too. She’s never been good at taking her meds.” I shrug. “I’m not close to her on purpose. I never really was.”

He bites his lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t need to say sorry,” I say. “It’s my life.” I turn towards him. “So what’s your ten-second sob story?” He laughs softly, still facing the road. “What? We all have one.”

He grips the steering wheel tight and twists it under his hands as he thinks. “Um, well…” His forehead crinkles. “I don’t really have the best track record with my mom, either.”

“Oh really?” I ask. “Twins.”

“Yeah,” he says. “We don’t get along pretty much ever. She’s always on my ass about one thing or another.” He shakes his head. “I know everyone says that. But it’s different with her. She’s just…she can be pretty mean.”

“Why would anyone have a reason to be mean to you?” I ask, truly curious. He’s the kindest, most considerate person I’ve ever met.

“She could give you a list of about a hundred reasons,” he says, sounding defeated. My heart hurts just hearing his voice change in the way it did. Now I wish I’d never asked.

There’s a beat of silence between us. “Okay, let’s forget that just happened,” I say, in attempt to lighten the mood back up. “I’m so excited to bring you to your very first Otsego football game. I can’t wait to show you how much we suck.”

He laughs, and I’m comforted in seeing the smile return to his face. It lights it right back up. “It’s that bad?” he asks as we pull up into the school parking lot.

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “We haven’t won in like, a thousand years.” I chuckle. “A little less than that, but not by much.” I step out of the car when he parks and pump my fists into the air. “We’re still spirited, though!”

We stop at the concession stand before finding a spot in the bleachers, and it turns out that my friend Bristel is working behind the counter tonight. “Hey, Katniss,” she says, and hands me a pop and a bag of M&Ms. It’s what I always get, usually for free depending on who’s working.

“Hey, B,” I say, then touch Peeta’s forearm. “This is Peeta.”

“Hey,” she says nonchalantly, a breezy smile appearing on her face. She’s probably the most laidback friend that I have, and the least nosy, too.

“What are you gonna get?” I ask him, tipping my chin up so I can look him in the eyes. He studies the menu board, and I can sense that he feels put on the spot. “The nachos are pretty good,” I say. “But messy. Popcorn is safe. I’d recommend extra salt though. Or, you know, you can be a kid like me and just get some candy.” I shake the bag of M&Ms and laugh. He smiles down at me, and his eyes light my heart on fire. I have to look away before I combust.

“I’ll get some Twizzlers,” he says. “And Sprite.”

Bristel turns around to fill up a cup of pop and then hands it back to us. When Peeta starts to pull out his money, she stops his hand after making sure her boss is nowhere in sight. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “If you’re good with Katniss, you’re good with me.”

His hand pauses. “Wait… are you sure?” he asks. She nods. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

As we walk towards the bleachers, he says, “Why am I getting the feeling that you have this school wrapped around your finger?”

I crack up. “I guess I kind of do,” I say. “Hopefully not in a bad way.”

“No, no,” he says. “I mean, if I get free candy and pop from it, it’s definitely not bad.”

We find a place to sit and notice that the game is already in the very beginning of the second quarter and the sun is almost finished setting.

I wrap my arms around myself as we sit hip-to-hip and rub my hands over them to generate some sort of warmth. “Are you cold?” I ask, looking over to him as he sips his drink.

“A little,” he says. “I brought this.” He digs in his backpack and then fans out a tartan-patterned blanket. When I fan it over my shoulders, I lift up one side of it and lay it down over him, too.

“You said you were a little cold,” I say, when he looks at me for a little too long. “We can share.”

“Okay,” he says, and then pulls it around himself in the same way that I have my side. We sit as close as we can so the blanket covers as much of us as possible, and I find myself really wanting to lay my head down on his shoulder. For some reason, though, I don’t. I can’t make myself. I feel too shy and too nervous, which is a first.

“You weren’t kidding,” Peeta says after a while of watching the game. “This team is really bad.”

I laugh and turn to face him. “See, I told you,” I say. “I almost never pay attention when I go to games. Because it’s just sad.”

He chuckles. “Do you come to games a lot?”

“Eh, sometimes,” I say. “I came a lot last year because my ex played varsity then. He doesn’t anymore.” Peeta gives me a curious look. “We broke up before school started.”

“What happened?” he asks. I feel the warmth of his body radiating onto mine, and I wish there was room for me to scoot even closer. Without his arms wrapped around me, we’re as close as we could possibly be, though.

“I know I’m better than how he was treating me.” I shake my head, not wanting to get into it. “It was a lot of stuff. You don’t want to hear it.”

“I do,” he says. “I’m a good listener. But if you don’t wanna talk about it, I get it.”

“It’s just a lot of shit that I’d have to dig back up,” I say. “He’s not even worth it.”

“Totally understandable,” he says, then faces back toward the field. “He’s an idiot to have lost you, though.”

I smile at him, though he isn’t looking my way. “You think so?” I ask.

A smirk teases the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t look over at me. He stays looking at the uneventful game. “Definitely,” he says.

Ruining our moment, a brash voice sounds from the aisle next to us. “What the fuck is this?” I look up and see Marvel, who is Cato’s right-hand man. If it’s possible for anyone to be dumber than Cato, it’s him.

He scoffs. “This is something I never thought I’d see,” he says.

“Fuck off, Marvel,” I say under my breath, looking over at him with narrowed eyes.

“I’m surprised, Everdeen,” he says, ignoring me. “I didn’t know you were a lesbian.”

My skin bristles and my face heats up. I stare daggers down at the ground and clench my fists, hoping by not reacting that it will force Marvel to get bored and walk away.

“If you’re looking for a dick under that blanket, it’s gonna take you a while,” he continues, and I clench my fists tighter.

“Just ignore him,” I mutter, glancing up at Peeta. His eyes are dead-set on the game, refusing to look anywhere else.

“I’m surprised,” Marvel continues. “And honestly offended. You’ll fuck _that,_ but not me? Jesus. Standards are lower than ever, Everdeen. How does it feel to be dating someone who’s even more of a girl than you are?”

I can’t hold in my anger anymore. I jump up from my seat on the bleachers and leave the blanket behind, stepping around Peeta’s legs so I’m nose-to-nose with the fuckhead who won’t leave us alone.

“Fuck off, Marvel,” I say, raising my voice from a growl to a near-shout. “I’m surprised you can take time away from your busy schedule of sucking Cato’s dick to even talk to us.” I stare him down for a beat that feels like it lasts forever.

“Good one,” he counters, but doesn’t have anything more than that.

“Come on, Peeta, this is stupid. Let’s go.” I help him gather our things and then take his hand to walk out of the throng of students together. I turn back before we’ve walked very far away and shout, “Go get fucked by a cactus, Marvel!”

I’m not sure how many people saw that, but I know that it’s in our best interest to get out of there before anything else happens.

We don’t speak until we get to his car. And even then, when both of our doors close we just sit there in the silence for a while. The car is running, but Peeta makes no move to go anywhere.

“I’m sorry that happened,” I finally say. “Don’t listen to him. Or Cato. They’re both just worthless pieces of shit.”

“I know,” he says, and rubs his temples.

“All that stuff he said, it doesn’t matter,” I say. “They’re just overcompensating for their tiny dicks and the fact that they’re gay for each other. Which, I mean, there would be nothing wrong with that if they didn’t take it out on everyone else.”

He’s still shaking his head.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, turning my head to look at him closer.

“Nothing,” he says, sighing. “I just hate that it happened. And that it keeps happening. They never leave me alone. And now…” He lets his head fall back to hit the headrest with a slight thump. “I just feel like it’s going to get worse.”

I bunch my hands into fists again. I have a lot of anger that I don’t know what to do with. “Can I see your keys?” I ask.

He looks at me pointedly. “You’re not going to go key his car.”

I slump back against the seat, and we’re quiet for a long while just sitting the parked car as the night folds in around us.

“Can we talk about something else?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, and then bring up something I’ve noticed all night. “You smell like frosting.”

He groans softly. “That’s not helping my case with the shitheads.”

“Fuck them,” I say. “I like it. It’s from the bakery, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I had a shift before I came to get you.”

I fold one leg under me so I can sit more comfortably. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he says. “In the morning.”

“I’ll come and see you,” I say. “Me and my sister. I have a soccer game, but it’s not until 2. She won’t wanna go to that because she gets cold and pissy, but I definitely won’t have to coerce her to coming to the bakery with me.”

His face lights up a little bit. “Cool,” he says. “I can have something ready for her.”

“She’s going to freak out,” I say with a smile. “She’ll die.”

“Awesome,” he says, and grins again. I’m happy to see it come back to his face. After a few seconds of being inside his own head, though, it disappears. “Maybe you and I shouldn’t hang out around people anymore.”

My stomach drops. “Why?” I ask, my voice on edge.

“If you being seen with me gets a reaction like… _that_ , I don’t wanna subject you to it,” he says. “People like you. They don’t like me.”

“I don’t give a shit, Peeta,” I say. “I like you. I’m not ashamed of hanging out with you. That’s stupid.”

He sends a small puff of air out of his nose. “Okay,” he says.

“Wanna go for a drive?” I ask. “I can show you all the cool places around here. AKA, the, like, two that exist.”

He starts the engine and puts the car in drive. “Just tell me where,” he says.

We end up driving around the back roads of our tiny town for more than an hour, just making light conversation about seemingly anything. I learn a lot about him; he has two brothers who live pretty far away, he’s kind of close with his dad, he’s never been someone with a lot of friends and he gets really good grades because school comes easy for him. I tell him a little bit more about me, too; that I’ve lived in this godforsaken town my whole life, I feel an obligation to take care of my family, and school doesn’t come that easy for me and I have to work really hard to end up with average grades. I dodge the topic of college and what will happen after high school. I’ve been trying to forget that real life is encroaching closer and closer with every passing minute of my senior year.

When he drops me off at my house, I see that the living room light is still on inside even though it’s almost 10. “Prim…” I grumble under my breath, and turn to face him. “Didn’t listen to me, obviously.”

He grins. “Go get her,” he says.

I lean in for a hug and bury my face in his neck once he wraps his arms around me. I’m overwhelmed with the sweet and spicy smell of him, and feel like I could drown in it forever if he’d let me. If that wasn’t really damn weird.

“See you tomorrow,” I breathe once I pull away. I swipe a tendril of hair out of my face and give him a bashful smile. I can’t help myself; I go in for one more hug and he holds me twice as tight.

“Bye,” he says, and I wave at him from the front porch as he drives away.

I unlock the front door and push it open, expecting to find Prim wide-eyed on the couch with an expectant look on her face, ready to hear everything. I wasn’t planning on being mad at her, but I’m met with a much different picture.

The TV is still on, playing the title sequence for _The Hannah Montana Movie_ over and over again. The house is cold and Prim is asleep in her pajamas; fuzzy white pants with blue polka dots and an oversized t-shirt of mine from last year’s choir festival. She’s curled into a ball in the corner of the couch; her mouth opened just slightly and her twin braids flyaway and askew. I smile slightly looking at her, and then walk quietly over and shut the TV off. I have no idea where Dad is, but I assume he’s in bed. I wonder if he saw Prim at all tonight or if she was alone to entertain herself the entire time, and feel incredibly guilty that I left my eight-year-old baby sister on her own for the whole night.

I pick her up easily, cradling her small body in my arms, and carry her up the stairs to her room. I lay her down in her unmade bed and pull the covers up to her chin, then kiss her temple once she’s settled. I change into my pajamas and then crawl into bed with her to keep warm. I’m not sure what the thermostat is set at, but it’s too cold for the changing seasons and it’s something I might have to spar with dad for in the morning. Laying here with her, I’m reminded of an old nickname she used to call me: sister mama. When she was little and Mom was holed up for days on end, I became Prim’s mother in her place. My role has shifted slightly since then, but I’ll always feel that same pull towards her.

When I wake up, Prim is still sound asleep and the sun is high in the sky. I look over and see that it’s almost noon, and we both slept for much longer than I had intended.

I don’t bother her yet, though; I get in the shower and dry my hair, then get dressed in my soccer stuff so I can just go straight to my game after I drop her back at home once we’re done at the bakery. It’s not bath time for her until tonight, so she’ll take approximately three seconds to get ready opposed to my half hour.

“Wake up,” I say softly, my hand on her shoulder. “Wake up, Prim, we’re gonna go get a special treat at the bakery.”

Her blue eyes blink open at the sound of that and she instantly looks interested. “Where are we going?” she asks.

“The bakery,” I say. “So get up and find some clothes.”

She sits on the edge of her bed and rubs her eyes. “But you’re in soccer stuff,” she says groggily.

“I know,” I say, digging through her drawers for her. I toss her a purple skort, white tights and a black shirt with stars on it. “I have a game right after. But I want to take you to get a treat.”

“And see Peeta,” she says, slowly changing her clothes. At first I think she’s teasing me, but realize she’s just making a statement.

“Yeah, he’s working,” I say. “He said he’d make you something special. Something white chocolate.”

Her face lights up even more and she speeds up the rate at which she’s putting on her clothes. Within mere minutes she’s ready, and I get us out the door and walking in the direction of the bakery in less than an hour of waking up.

“Was the game fun?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I lie. I don’t want to get into explaining it to her. She doesn’t need to know about all that shit yet.

“Did we win?” she asks.

“Of course not,” I respond. She giggles. “We never win.”

“I know,” she says, the laugh still present in her voice.

We get to the bakery by 12:30 and I see Peeta’s car parked outside. Just by the Fusion coming into view, my stomach starts jumping with excitement. Prim rushes ahead of me and bursts through the door, and the welcome bell rings with her entrance. I go in shortly after and see Peeta behind the counter that holds the glass cases and decorative displays. His hair is more unkempt than usual; interlaced with dustings of flour and sticking up in certain places where it looks like his hands have run through it. He’s in a form-fitting white t-shirt with Mellark’s Bakery printed on it with an apron tied around his waist.

His face lights up when we come through the door and I’m delighted to see that we’re his only customers at the moment. “Hey Katniss,” he says, his blue eyes lingering on me. “Hi, Prim.”

She presses her body up against the counter and looks up at him excitedly. “Did you make something for me?” she asks impatiently.

“Don’t be greedy,” I say, nudging her. “Say hi first, at least. Jeez.”

“It’s fine,” he laughs. “I did make something. Hold on, let me go get it.” He disappears into the back and then reappears with what looks like a big white chunk of something.

“What is it, what is it?” she asks, bouncing up and down in an effort to see what he has.

“It’s a special cookie I made,” he says. “Then I dipped it in melted white chocolate, then it hardened. Now it’s all cased in white chocolate, the cookie still fresh on the inside.”

I’m not a huge fan of white chocolate, but my mouth practically starts watering listening to him talk about it. “Whoa…” Prim says, carefully taking it from him.

“Here,” I say, handing her a handful of napkins. “Go sit down at a table. And do not tell Dad that you had dessert for breakfast.” She giddily obeys me and is completely silent as she enjoys her treat. “That’s insane,” I say to Peeta. “You made that just this morning?”

He nods proudly. “It wasn’t hard,” he says. “It was no big deal. I’m glad she likes it.”

“She’s gonna be talking about it for years now,” I say. “You made her day. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he says. “I mean that. Do you want anything?”

I shake my head. “No, no, I couldn’t.”

“You’ve got game clothes on,” he says. “And my best guess is that you didn’t eat breakfast this morning. You’re gonna collapse out there on the field if you don’t eat something.” I just sit back and listen to him with a sly smirk on my face, arms crossed, weight slanted to one hip. “So I’m gonna go get you a few things for breakfast and you’re going to eat them. Sound good?”

“Peeta…” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Great,” he says. He comes back within minutes with a buttered croissant, a cheese bun, a banana, and a glass of orange juice all on a tray for me. “Go sit,” he says. “I’ll bring it to you.”

“You don’t need to…” I trail off, but I ultimately give in and sit across from my sister, who is still enjoying her much less healthy breakfast.

“Eat up,” he says. “You need your strength.”

“Thanks, Peeta,” I say, giving him a poignant glance. I dig in while he goes back behind the counter when some other customers come in, and we continue to catch each other’s eyes as I eat. I give him a thumbs up when I get to the cheese bun, and hold it close to my chest in a pretend hug.

“What are you doing?” Prim asks, glancing between the two of us as we communicate silently over the people buying bakery items.

“I just really like these,” I tell her, popping the last bite into my mouth.

“You keep looking over at Peeta,” she points out.

“I’m just thanking him,” I say.

“You’re saying more than that,” she says. “You have a crush on him, right?" 

“Prim,” I say, my voice low under the sound of milling customers. “Don't say that. Not now.”

She studies me and doesn’t say anything more. As we sit at our small, circular table, the bakery gets busier and busier. I glance at the clock and know we need to get going so I can get Prim home with enough time for me to get to my game, but I don’t want to leave without spending more time with Peeta. But even though I wish I could stay, I know I can’t.

I lean on the glass display case as he rings up an elderly woman and helps her count her change. “We gotta go,” I say. “My game. And I have to take Prim home. See you at school?”

“See you,” he says, and gives me a short wave. “Good luck.”

I throw a ‘thanks’ over my shoulder as we head out, and then hurry home to drop Prim off.


	5. Chapter 5

**KATNISS**

Once Prim is back in the house, I pick up the pace to make sure I get to the stadium on time and I end up arriving there with just enough time to strap on my shin-guards and join the warmup with the rest of my team.

As the other team arrives, my teammate, Lila, French braids my hair back tight away from my face and swipes black paint under my eyes. We always do that before every game, even though it’s silly.

I’m not a starter, so I sit on the bench and half-watch the game unfold and half let my mind wander to thoughts of Peeta. More specifically, the way his arms looked straining under the short sleeves of his bakery t-shirt; so muscled that it seemed that they could break through at any second. Even with flour dust dotted on his face and hair, he had still looked so good in complete control of the bakery, knowing exactly what he was doing. It’s probably the most confident I’ve ever seen him, and it looked good on him. I make a promise to myself that I’ll stop in there more often on the rare times that I’m free and he’s working.

When I go in during the second quarter, I notice that the bleachers have started to fill up. I graze the crowd with my eyes, knowing that my searching for a familiar face is futile, but I do it anyway. I always have some stray hope that my dad will have forced Prim to bundle up and come with him to watch me, but no one ever shows. I see almost everybody else’s family except for mine. Everyone has someone cheering for them, and I do my best to pretend that it’s my name they’re shouting.

During the beginning of the fourth quarter, the game is all tied up. I’ve assisted on a few goals but have the itch to score one, and know I have to get it done fast if I’m going to do it at all. The girls on the opposing team are tall and broad; two things that I’m not, but I’m much quicker than they are and can dart around and through them easily.

As the clock ticks down, my teammate, Ellen, passes the ball to me and I know what I have to do. I dart through the other team and skirt their flying feet trying to steal the ball from me, and run as fast as I can towards their goal. I hear people cheering in the back of my mind, but I’m so focused that everyone sounds like they’re underwater, screaming for me to _go, go, go!_

Once I’m close enough, I kick the ball as hard as I can and fall on my back from the force I exerted. When I look up, the clock has reached zero and my team is jumping up and down cheering for me. The other team has their heads hung low, but with good-sportsmanship smiles on their faces as they shake some of my girls’ hands.

“You did it, you did it!” Ellen cheers, rushing up to me and tackling me in a huge hug. “We won!”

My face breaks into a huge grin and I hear a familiar voice far away; familiar, yes, but one I never expected to hear.

I look up to the top of the bleachers and see no one else there but Peeta, jumping up and down like a madman and screaming my name. My face breaks out in a gleeful, surprised smile that I laugh disbelievingly through.

I ditch my teammates on the field and run up the steps as fast as I can to meet him. Once I get there, I crash into his arms and he lifts me off the ground and spins me around so fast that I get dizzy from both the motion and pure excitement. I don’t care if my teammates are staring. I’ve never been so happy; someone finally came to support me. And to make it even better, it was Peeta. When he sets me down, we stare into each other’s faces, both equally breathless.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, unable to wipe the smile off my face.

“You said you had a game,” he says, running one hand through his hair. “My shift was over, so I thought I’d come see you. You’re a rock star out there.”

I look over my shoulder back down at the field and see my team gathering up their gear as they get ready to disperse. I know I should join them, but I don’t want to leave Peeta just yet.

“Thanks,” I say, and then take his wrist. “Do you want to come with me to go grab my stuff? And then maybe we could…I don’t know, go for pizza or something?”

I don’t have much money with me, but when I add it up in my head I’m pretty sure I can afford a couple slices at Harding’s.

“That sounds great,” he says, and we walk down the high cement steps of the stadium together to the field. I start to heave my duffel bag up from the ground, but he stops me. “How about I carry that,” he suggests, and takes it. “It feels like there’s a body in here.”

“There might be,” I say, with a sly smile on my face. When he meets my gaze with wide, joking blue eyes, I crack up laughing. “It’s Cato,” I giggle.

“It’d be a lot heavier if that was the case,” he says, shifting the bag’s weight. “Could be Marvel, though.” I laugh again, and look over at him with shiny eyes. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I reply quickly, suddenly hyper-conscious of the way our pinkies brush when our hands swing in opposite directions as we walk.

“Something,” he says, his voice lilting.

“No, nothing!” I insist, and then walk up the ramp to exit the stadium. When we get to the top, the back door to the locker room is in sight and pushed open, with Ellie using her back to keep it that way.

“Katniss,” she calls out, one hand cupped around her mouth. “Are you coming? I think we’re gonna go get ice cream.”

“No, I don’t think so,” I call back. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Are you sure?” she continues. “Come on! You scored the winning goal.”

I smile to myself, replaying what I had done. “I know, I know,” I say. “But I’m just gonna go. I… have to go pick up my sister.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Ellie concedes. “See you Monday.”

As we continue walking out to the parking lot, Peeta nudges my shoulder. “Have to go pick up your sister?”

“Oh, leave me alone,” I grumble.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he teases.

“My team’s great, but everyone is always talking at once. It’s exhausting.”

“Well, I’m honored that you’re choosing to spend time with me instead.”

“Even though you talk too much, too,” I say, smirking.

“Well…” he trails off. “Okay, I got nothing. You got me there.”

“I know,” I say.

We get to his car and he throws my duffel bag in the back seat with a loud and heavy thump. When I get in, I notice once again that his car is the cleanest one I’ve ever been in, especially given that he’s a high school boy. Gale’s car was a train-wreck; full of food wrappers, shoes, old assignments and just plain dirt.

“Do you want me to take my cleats off?” I ask, eyeing the spotless, tan floor rugs.

“What?” he asks, buckling his seatbelt. I’m still standing outside the car, ducked so I can see his face when I talk to him. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. It’s a car, it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?” I ask again.

“Katniss, just get in,” he says, and then starts it up. I give in and plop down in the passenger’s seat, buckling up for the short ride to the small grocery store a few blocks away.

“You really keep your car nice,” I say, leaning back against the seat. “Do you have like, an obsession with it or something?”

He rolls his eyes and turns on the radio. _Water Under the Bridge_ by Adele is playing, and my head starts subconsciously nodding along to the beat. “I don’t have ‘like, an obsession,’” he tells me, and I scoff at his imitation of my voice. “No one’s ever in here but me. So it’s not that hard to keep clean.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” I ask, crossing my right leg over my left so my body is almost completely turned towards him.

“Okay, okay, yeah,” he says, facing me at the stoplight. “But that’s new. I mean _before_ you.”

“Oh, _before_ me,” I say, and lean one elbow on the console. Thanks to our close proximity, I can smell the bakery on him; flour, cinnamon and dill.

We pull up to Harding’s and walk in side-by-side. “You’re gonna fall over in those cleats,” he says to me as I struggle with the knobs on the undersides of my shoes against the pavement.

“I’m fine,” I say, shooting him a look.

“They’re not meant for cement…” he trails off.

“My fist is meant for your face,” I say, and shake it at him.

“You’re terrifying,” he laughs, and my ankle bends and threatens to roll. Reacting instantly, he outstretches his arm and circles it around my waist to keep me steady until we get inside.

We stand at the deli counter and I order first; picking out two slices of cheese pizza. When the girl rings up my total, it comes up to $6.50. As I dig around in my wallet, my stomach sinks with the realization that I only have a 5-dollar bill. I crinkle it in my hand and get increasingly more fidgety as I pretend to dig around, even though I know full well that’s all I’ll come up with.

“I’m sorry,” I say finally, glancing over at Peeta. “You can go ahead. I just…I’m actually not that hungry. I’m not going to get anything, I’m sorry.”

He studies me for a single beat, and then steps forward. “I got us both,” he tells the girl.

“Peeta, no,” I insist.

“Yes, I got this,” he says, and swipes his card. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just pizza.”

I let out a long sigh from my nose, feeling embarrassed. I know he’s not the type to judge, but what must he think of me for not being able to come up with more than $5 to pay for pizza?

I take my plate and lead the way to the seating area, then find a booth and slide in. We eat in silence for a few minutes, and then Peeta speaks up.

“If you feel weird about that, I’m sorry,” he says, sounding a bit dejected, but respectful. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

“It wasn’t you,” I respond quickly. “Just the whole thing.”

“You can pay me back if you want to. But I don’t really want you to.”

I set my half-eaten slice of pizza down. “It’s not about that. It’s about me, and…” I scrunch up my eyebrows. “It doesn’t matter. I just…thank you. I should be saying thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” he tells me. “It was kind of rude of me to just take over like that.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I say. “You were helping. I just can’t believe I didn’t have it. I thought I had it in there, I just should’ve checked.”

“I really don’t mind,” he says. “I liked doing it. You deserve it. I mean, you scored a big goal today. Least I can do is buy you pizza.”

A smile sneaks onto my lips. “Okay, yeah, if you look at it like that.”

He smiles now, too.

**PEETA**

Two weeks after Katniss’s soccer game, I can hear my phone ringing in the kitchen as I’m getting out of the shower. My stomach jumps with both nerves and excitement, and I ruffle the towel over my hair and dry off as quickly as I can, then end up leaving the bathroom with only my other towel wrapped around my waist.

“Peet, your phone’s ringing,” Dad says, and my wet feet slip and slide on the kitchen tile as I hurry over to it. “Slow down!” he says, smiling.

I grin in his direction as I answer the call. “Hey,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Hey, Peeta,” Katniss says, and my face heats up just hearing her voice.

“Is that a girl?” my dad mouths, and I try to wave him away, but he raises his eyebrows and mouths it again. “A girl…!”

“Go away,” I say.

“What?” she says.

“No, no, not you,” I say. “My dad. He’s being weird.” I roll my eyes at my dad and then retreat into my room, where I sit down on my bed in my towel. For some reason, I feel weird being completely naked with her on the phone, so I wait to change.

This is the first time that we’ve talked on the phone. We didn’t get a lot of time to talk in school today because the girls and boys are split for the unit in gym right now, and her friends begged her to sit at their table. So after we all were walking back to our lockers from lunch, she caught up with me, grabbed my arm, and told me to put my number in her phone so she could call me tonight and catch up.

“I can’t believe we didn’t have each other’s numbers before this,” she says now, and I can’t help but picture her. It’s kind of silly that we’re talking on the phone since we live so close to each other, but it’s just easier this way. This way, our parents don’t ask any questions. “We talk like, every day.”

“I know,” I say.

“Can you hear me okay?” she asks. “My phone’s kind of a piece of shit.” There’s a short pause. “Go away, Prim,” I hear her hiss. “I don’t care! Whatever, tell him. I’m on the phone. _Yes_. Now can you please go? And shut the door. Bye.” She grumbles something under her breath. “Sorry. My sister.”

I chuckle. “It’s okay.”

“Sometimes she’s so cute and sweet, and other times I want to smother her with a pillow.”

“God, should I be worried?” I joke.

“Very much so,” she says, a laugh in her voice. “So what did you do today? How was gym? You guys are doing like, wrestling or something, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I wrestled at my old school. So it’s pretty easy.”

“Ooh,” she says, and I smirk. “I bet you look great in that leotard.”

“It’s not a…” I smack my palm to my forehead. “God.”

“Come on, admit it,” she says. “It’s _totally_ a leotard.”

“For your information, it’s called a singlet,” I say. “And I actually do look really, really great in it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. But we don’t have to wear one for class, that would be totally embarrassing. Cato would never let me live that down.”

She laughs. “He’d give you shit for it even as he wore one himself.”

“He’s such a fucking idiot,” I say, hating the fact that I’m now picturing Cato in a singlet instead of Katniss on her bed.

“Did you beat him?” she asks. “Were you guys really paired up, did you beat the shit out of him?”

I scoff. “No, we’re different weight classes. I’m not gonna get a chance to fight him.”

“In school, at least,” she says slyly.

“Katniss, I’m not ever gonna _fight_ him…” I say.

“Well, then I will,” she responds. “If it comes to that, I totally would.”

“I know,” I say. “And that’s the scary part.”

“What?” she smiles. “You’ve said it yourself before. I’m scrappy.” Her voice sounds more energized, like she’s punching the air. I wouldn’t put it past her. “I could take him.”

“You are definitely scrappy,” I say. “But I don’t think you’d stand a chance.”

“You don’t give me enough credit,” she says. “I’m fast. He’s big. I could take him down.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” I concede.

She giggles. “Hey, I’m gonna see you at the fall concert tomorrow night, right?”

My eyes widen as the date dawns on me. I had totally forgotten; it had come up so fast. I have a shift tomorrow at the bakery, but I’m sure the concert won’t be until after. “Of course,” I say. “What time?”

“Seven,” she says. “Treble choir sings first, then us.”

“Awesome,” I say. “Yeah, I’ll definitely be there. I told you I would.”

“I know,” she says. “I just like to make sure. I’m really excited for you to come.”

“You are?” I ask.

“For sure,” she replies. “Just like with my game. My family doesn’t get the chance to come to my stuff a lot, so…I don’t know. It’s nice to have someone.”

“Well, I’ll come anywhere you want me,” I tell her.

There’s a short pause, and I take the moment to close my eyes and conjure up the image of her. I’ve never been inside her house, let alone her bedroom, so I have to draw one up from my imagination. I picture a blue bed in the middle of the room with a tall white headboard, and right now, her lying on it with her head at the opposite side it would normally be with her legs crossed over one another by the pillows. Her hair would be long and wavy, falling over the side towards the floor, loose and not tucked away in a ponytail or braid. She’s probably in pajamas, which are probably not matching. She doesn’t care about that kind of stuff. I picture black soccer sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt of some sort, faded and worn-in with comfort. She might even be wearing fuzzy socks. I smile as I imagine her clearer and clearer, and have the strong urge that I was sitting right next to her, touching her.

“You still there?” I hear.

I jolt back to earth, and look down at my towel to see that I’ve created quite the situation for myself. Of course she doesn’t know, but it sure feels like she does. “Um, y-yeah…” I stammer. “I’m here.”

“Oh, okay,” she continues. She must have been talking, and I was too distracted to notice. “Like I was saying. It’s not a fancy ordeal by any means, just like, wear normal clothes. It’s just a school concert. Of course, I’ll be in a heinous blue dress that doesn’t fit me right just like everyone else in my choir. The treble choir actually gets these nice black dresses that I really wish we had, but nope. We get the nasty blue ones.”

As she talks, I do my best to think of anything that might make me a little less hard, but nothing does me any good. Now, the thought of her in the dress and out of the dress clouds my mind, and I wish I could just make everything disappear with a whiteboard eraser. Why am I this way? Why did my brain have to do this? I’m struggling to keep up with the conversation, but she doesn’t notice anymore. She’s onto a completely new tangent that I’m only half-listening to.

Somehow, she ends back up on the concert. “So, yeah,” she sighs. “I feel pretty ready with my solo. I think it’ll sound good. At least I hope.” She chuckles. “If it sounds like shit, feel free to throw tomatoes.”

I scoff, rejoining the conversation. “I’ll bring some, just in case.”

“Nice of you,” she says, laughing again. “You’ve been quiet, especially for you, Mr. Chatterbox. What’s wrong?”

“Me?” I ask stupidly, and glance downward. My towel is still a tent. “Nothing. Really.”

“Something on your mind?” she pushes.

“Nothing,” I repeat. “Just listening to you.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding satisfied. “Well, that’s nice. I guess I’m just not used to it.”

“You’re not?”

“No way,” she says. “Gale would never let me talk. Always be interrupting and shit, cutting me off, telling me he doesn’t care. Then we’d either talk about his stuff or he’d try and get my clothes off. You know, one of the two.”

I’m a pig. A pig, a pig, a pig. Because once she says ‘get my clothes off,’ my boner gets more difficult than ever to ignore. I close my eyes in disgust and shame and know I’m going to have to get off the phone soon, because I can’t go on like this. I can’t keep talking to her with a boner as hard as a rock under just my towel. I just can’t do it. I still feel like she knows; she seems so close to me, so it just feels like she knows everything that I’m doing. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to force the image from my mind, but it stays anyway. Katniss, in just her bra and underwear, lying in the same position on her bed. Except without the phone, and I’m there too.

Jesus Christ.

We’ve both stopped talking for a minute, and then I feign a yawn.

“Are you tired?” she asks. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up, jeez. It’s a school night. I’ll let you go to bed.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling jumpy. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” she says. “Lunch. Be there.”

“I will,” I say.

“Bye, Peeta,” she says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Katniss,” I say, and then hang up my phone and slide it across my bed until it lands as far away from me as possible. I get up, lock my door, flick the lights off, then return to my bed. As I lay there, I shed my towel and reach for the lotion I keep in my nightstand, and get off to the thought of her bare, willowy body under my own. Once I come and am a gross, sticky mess, I’m spent and ashamed.

I lay there with my chest heaving for a few long moments, staring up at the ceiling. To avoid falling asleep naked and stained, I lift my body staunchly from the bed and wrap my same towel around me to head back into the bathroom so I can clean myself up.

Once I’m back in bed, clothed and clean, I run my hands down my face and let out a long sigh. I can’t believe how bad I have it for this girl. I never knew that I could feel this way about someone.

 

The next day as we’re all getting out of gym, I’m heading towards the lunchroom and can see the back of Katniss’s head as she walks in the same direction. I start to call out to her, I even get out the first syllable of her name, but then I get shoved forward and have to take a few stutter steps to regain my balance.

“What the fuck?” I turn around in confusion and see Cato, Marvel and their gang of idiots all cracking up behind me.

“You have zero chance in hell with her,” Cato says, shoulder-checking me as he walks past. I cross my arms and inadvertently become smaller. “I have no fucking clue why you keep trying.”

I want nothing more than to counter back at him, but no words come. I just want to be able to say something, to stick up for myself, but something inside me just won’t.

“Pussy boy,” Marvel says, chuckling as he catches up with Cato.

As they walk past Katniss, she flips around and sends her long braid flying. She meets my eyes as I set my stuff down at the table where we usually sit, and then leaves the hot lunch line and comes over to me.

“What did they just do?” she asks.

I shrug it off. “Nothing.”

She narrows her eyes and raises her lip involuntarily. “I’m going to go fuck him up.”

She turns on her heel to go after Cato, but I grab her by the elbow. “Katniss, no,” I say. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” she snaps, and I notice a flush has flooded her face. “It’ll teach him to stop messing with you.”

“No, it won’t. It’ll just make things worse,” I say. “Just…sit down. I’ll go get your lunch for you. Give me your ID.”

“No,” she says, her eyes giving off a guarded expression.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” I say, extending my hand and wiggling my fingers out so she’ll put her ID in my hand. “I already know what you want. It’s pizza day.”

“I can do it,” she says, but then doesn’t make a move to get up.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, and am proud of myself for it. Even a week ago I wouldn’t have pried so much with a question like that, but now that we’re getting to be better friends I feel comfortable enough. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need you to,” she says.

I scoff. “This whole thing about you thinking I’m helping you out of pity is not true, I hope you know.”

“It’s not that,” she says, blinking quickly like tears are imminent. I hope they’re not. I won’t be able to live with myself if I’ve made her cry.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know…” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“I’m on free and reduced lunch,” she says. “And if you go get my lunch for me, they’ll see that the picture doesn’t match the ID, and they’ll think I’m giving my account out for other people to use, and I’ll get it taken away. Okay? And I really don’t want that to happen. So that’s why you can’t go get my lunch for me.”

My shoulders deflate as I give in and sit down. “I didn’t…”

“I know,” she says. “I didn’t want you to. But now you do.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know?” I ask, looking up at her as she stands and I sit.

She throws her weight to one hip and looks down at her ID card. “I don’t go around telling people.” She pauses for quite a long time. “You know, that I’m poor.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I say, and realize how patronizing it sounds as it comes out.

She shoots me a fiery glare. “I’m not,” she says firmly, teeth almost gritted. “I just don’t want people feeling sorry for me. I’m _fine_ , and Prim’s fine, and my family’s fine. It’s just hard to afford-”

“You don’t need to explain anything else to me,” I tell her. “Just go get your pizza. I’ll be here.”

When she comes back, she’s chewing the inside of her cheek and I feel compelled to apologize again. “I didn’t mean to pry,” I say.

“Peeta, you’re fine,” she says. “I don’t care if you pry.” We’re silent for a minute. “I really don’t,” she continues. “I just haven’t like, been very open with that with…anyone. Not any of my friends. So talking about it is kind of weird.”

“I get it,” I say. “But hey, it’s not like I have anyone to tell.”

She laughs, leaning forward and grabbing my upper arm as she does so. “You’re right, you fucking loser.”

“Shut up,” I say, and laugh along with her.

When lunch is over, we’re about to head our separate ways; with me to art and Katniss to AP bio, when she grabs my arm.

“Don’t forget,” she says urgently, with a glint in her gray eyes. “7pm tonight. But be a little early so you can get a good seat. I want to see you. Sit close.”

“I’ll sit close,” I assure her. “I’ll be there.”

She gives me a breathy smile as she turns to leave. “See you tonight,” she says.

I hold onto her words all day.

 

I change my clothes at least three times before settling on something to wear to the concert. I end up with a pair of jeans that I bought a couple weekends ago, a black t-shirt and red jacket with black leather sleeves. I hope it’s not too much, but I think it looks pretty okay so I stick with it. After my shift at the bakery, I had stopped at the flower shop and picked up a bouquet of orchids to give to Katniss after her performance that I already know will be outstanding, so I pick them up off my dresser and take them downstairs with me.

I trot down the stairs at 6:30 and run into my mom and dad in the kitchen. “Where are you going, looking all spiffy?” Dad asks. “And with flowers, I see.”

My mouth goes dry. I was hoping that I wouldn’t run into either one of them on my way out. “Oh, um, the school,” I say. “There’s a concert tonight.”

“Never seen those clothes before,” Mom chides. “When’d you get the time and money to go get yourself fancy new stuff? When do I get to buy myself fancy new stuff? And who are the flowers for?”

“They’re, um…” I say, my voice growing quieter.

“Leave him alone, Maria,” Dad says, shooting her a look. “He can look nice. He’s going to see his girl in her concert.”

“ _Dad_ ,” I say, my eyes wide as I stare down at the floor. “She’s not…”

Mom scoffs. “You have ‘a girl’?”

“No,” I say quickly. “She’s not… we’re not…”

“She called him the other night,” Dad adds, not helping. “And the flowers…”

“We’re just friends,” I say.

He chuckles under his breath. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Peet,” he says. “She should come over for dinner sometime. It’d be nice to meet a new friend of yours.”

“Yeah…” I say, knowing full well that I’d never force Katniss to meet these two.

“Is your homework done?” Mom asks.

“Yeah.”

“Chores?”

“Yeah.”

She crosses her arms and her mouth settles in an unpleasant frown, its usual position. “When is this thing supposed to get over with, anyway? It’s already late as it is.”

“I don’t know, like 9.”

“Late,” she says.

“Just go, Peeta,” Dad cuts in, shooing me towards the door. “Go have fun. Go see this girl in whatever concert. Have a nice time.”

“Be quiet when you come in, boy,” Mom calls out. “I swear to god if you wake me up…”

“Go,” Dad says, one last time, and then shuts the door behind me. A weight is lifted off of my chest when I make it to my car. I raise up the garage door and practically fly out of there.

I shove my free hand deep into the pocket of my jacket as I head into school, my head ducked low. I know I won’t know anyone, so I keep my eyes down as I make my way into the auditorium, past mingling families and school organizations that are trying to raise money via donations. I maneuver my way through groups of people and get to the front row, where I find a seat right in the middle. It’s perfect. I know that there’s no way she can miss me sitting right here.

When the lights dim and the concert starts, my stomach is jumping with excitement. I can’t wait to hear Katniss sing, see her in the blue dress that I know will look great on her, or for the moment where our eyes meet. I can’t wait for any of it.

Just like she said, the treble choir goes first. They’re nothing special, but not bad to listen to. When the meister singers come on, I join in heartily with the round of applause. My cheeks hurt from how big my smile is when Katniss steps on stage, in line with the rest of the people in her row. Their director says a few words into the mic, and then introduces their first song, which is called _O Magnum Mysterium_. It’s beautiful and haunting, and I keep my eyes on Katniss the entire time. She’s so into the music; showing a totally different dedication than I saw in her with soccer, and I’m mesmerized by it.

There’s a series of notes in the middle that go higher than the rest, and Katniss takes those all on her own. I get chills up and down my entire body, and when I glance down I see that my arm hair is standing straight on end. The next song is something about September, and in the middle of it, we lock eyes. A smirk steals her lips and her eyes flash as she stays focused on me.

My heart is beating so hard that I swear everyone should be able to hear it over the accompaniment. During an instrumental break in the song, she mouths ‘hi’ to me, and I mouth it back, and then she breaks our eye contact to look back at her director.

When the last song on the roster comes up, Katniss steps down from her riser and picks the mic off of the stand at the front of the stage. She looks at her director, who introduces the song as a newer one that they’re trying out, something to break the mold of the classical ones they usually do. It’s called _This Town_  by Niall Horan, and we in the audience would probably recognize it.

The choir sings the first verse together, but when it breaks for the chorus, Katniss sings it alone.

_‘Cause if the whole world was watching I'd still dance with you_

_Drive highways and byways to be there with you_

_Over and over the only truth_

_Everything comes back to you_

Her voice floats over everyone sitting before her, and I swear she’s the only person in the room once she starts to sing. Her eyes stay open; wide and passionate, and the song escapes her with ease. It doesn’t seem like she’s trying in the slightest bit to make this beautiful music come out of her body. She just simply sounds like magic.

When the song is finished, I feel like I’ve been snapped out of a trance. She gives a small bow, then rejoins the group for the ending applause. When everyone disperses, I make it my mission to find her before anyone else does and jet down the arts hallway to see her coming out of the back auditorium hallway with her pretty blue choir dress still on.

“Peeta,” she breathes, and then runs towards me. When our bodies collide, I lift hers from the ground and hug her as tightly as I can. “Suffocating,” she squelches out, and we both laugh when I set her down.

“I never knew you could sing like that,” I say, and then hand her the flowers. “Here, these are for you.”

“Peeta,” she gasps, sounding surprised. “Oh, my god. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” I say.

“They’re so, so pretty,” she says, burying her nose and smelling them. “And they smell amazing. Wow. Thank you so much. I…” Her voice fades away. “Thank you.”

She gives me another hug, and lets her body melt against mine. I squeeze her tight and breathe in the smell of her hair; vanilla and flowers, only strengthened by the orchids.

“My dad is here with Prim,” she tells me once we break apart. “I want you to meet him. If you want to. It’s not like, a big deal. But I know he’d want to meet you, and he’s going to ask where the flowers came from…” She giggles. “And yeah. So will you come with me? To see my dad?”

“Sure,” I say, and practically collapse when she takes my hand in hers and leads me down the arts hallway. With her hand clasped in my own, suddenly everything seems different. This building doesn’t seem like the school that I suffer through every day, it seems lighter, happier, freer. Her hand is small and soft in my grip, and I hope mine feels okay in hers. I hope I’m not clammy or dry-skinned or anything like that. I hope it feels just right. Because hers feels just right to me.

When we get to the end of the hallway, her face lights up with recognition when she sees her dad and sister, but then falls almost instantly. I follow her eyes, and see what the source of her frown is. Beside her dad and Prim is a small, blonde woman who I can only assume is her mother.

“I, um…” she stammers, and drops my hand. I’m left feeling empty without hers to hold onto. “I should go.”

“Am I still coming with you?” I ask.

She looks up at me, her gray eyes wide and desperate. “Um, no,” she says. “I’m sorry. I just, my…” Her voice fades. “I just have to go now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow at school.” She turns and walks away from me, looking almost as if she’s floating because of the skirt of her dress flowing behind her. She throws one last glance back at me over her shoulder, and says, “Thanks again, you know,” She smiles. “For the flowers.”

Katniss gets lost in the crowd as she heads toward her family and I end up losing track of her. Suddenly, I’m alone in a big crowd without a reason to stay, so I head back the other way down the arts hall and leave through the back door.

When I get home, the house is quiet and I retire to my room. I have an early shift at the bakery tomorrow morning, so I lay down and try to fall asleep quickly. But of course, it doesn’t work.

I sigh angrily and open up my eyes again. She hardly ever talks about her mom, but it still caught me off guard that her presence would cause Katniss to shun me from her family. I can’t really put my finger on a good reason why she would do that, but if I’ve learned anything up until this point, it’s that answers are not always easy when it comes to her.

I roll over and rest my head on my arm, just staring into the darkness. I wish I had been able to spend more time with her, to tell her just how much I loved hearing her sing. Because I did. I really, really did.


	6. Chapter 6

**PEETA**

I don’t hear from Katniss the rest of the weekend, not so much as a single text. And I don’t see her outside of her house, either. I know she has a soccer game, but it’s away at Vicksburg so there’s no point in going to the stadium.

I see her for the first time since the concert as we head to lunch on Monday. “Hey,” she says happily, matching my pace and looking up at me.

I look around the lunchroom and see that the student council has been busy hanging up advertisements for the upcoming homecoming dance. Posters covered in block letters and glitter are everywhere. It’s impossible to so much as turn a corner without seeing a five-foot long sign with _HAPPY HOMECOMING_ written in bubbly, high-school girl handwriting.

“Hey,” I respond after a beat.

When Katniss comes back from getting her lunch, she spends a while stirring around the starchy mashed potatoes with her spork. “All the posters are a bit much,” she says, smirking at me.

“Agreed,” I say.

“Dances are a bit much in general,” she says.

I raise my eyebrows. “Not your thing?”

“No, no, I mean…I go,” she says. “But…yeah, they’re not my favorite.”

I make an affirmative sound. “About the concert,” I begin. “What was-”

“I know,” she cuts me off. I give her a confused look. “I ditched you.”

“Because your mom.”

“Yeah.” A beat passes where we just look at each other, sizing each other up. “She never comes out to see my stuff,” she continues, looking back down at her Styrofoam tray. “I didn’t want to like, scare her off or anything.”

It dawns on me, suddenly. She wasn’t ‘ashamed’ of me or anything like that. She was protecting her mom by not bringing me around; she was padding the world around her to keep her mother as sheltered as she could.

My body feels warm as my heart swells for her.

“It’s okay,” I say, and mean it. “Don’t worry about it.”

“For real?” she asks. “You’re not mad or anything? I mean, you totally could be. I just up and left you and didn’t even really say…”

“Katniss, it’s okay,” I assure her. “Really. It’s fine.”

“It’s _really_ fine or it’s a ‘turn on read receipts and tell me goodnight at 5pm’ fine?” she asks, laughing.

I smile along with her. “The first one. For sure.”

“Okay, good.”

We eat for a while without saying much, just trading small talk and how our days have gone so far. As I watch her talk animatedly about her upcoming dissection in bio later today, I come to the realization that I want – no, need – to ask her to go to Homecoming with me.

The dance is in two weeks. I hope I’ll be able to work up the courage by then. I tell myself that there’s no ‘if’ about it, I have to.

 

That night after my shift at the bakery, I spend time Googling homecoming proposals thinking that I might have a chance if I come up with something witty. Everything I find on the internet just makes me roll my eyes, though; the rhymes that people have written are very unimpressive. The first one that I scroll by is: “Roses are red, tiaras are stunning, come be my princess at this year’s Homecoming,” and I grumble about it.

“Doesn’t even rhyme,” I say under my breath.

“It would be a sweet if you’d go to Homecoming with me” is a sign covered in candy. Unoriginal. “Will you make my hotline bling at HoCo?” Again, my eyes almost slide back into my skull from how hard I roll them.

After going to the very bottom of the Google page and not finding anything, I shut my laptop and give up. Katniss probably wouldn’t like an elaborate proposal anyway, so I push it out of my mind and try to think of something else.

When I’m at the bakery later in the week, I think of it. Of course, it has to deal with cheese buns. Every time she stops in here I give one to her and they’re her absolute favorite. When the flow of customers winds down and it gets close to closing time, I box up a package of four in a pink box and tie it with a white ribbon. I tuck it under my arm on the way out to my car, and set it in the passenger’s seat gently for the ride home.

When I pull up in the driveway, even in the setting sun I can see a figure on the sidewalk in front of my yard. When my headlights shine on them, I see that it’s Katniss squinting into the brightness with a soccer ball trapped under one of her feet. With a smile, she waves at me and starts walking up to my car.

I scramble and rip the jacket off of my body to throw over the cheese bun package in the front seat, and stumble out before she can look inside.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I ask, walking up to her. I lead her subconsciously back onto the sidewalk and start walking away from my house, because the last thing I want is for my mom to look out, see us, and then have a million questions and criticisms later.

“I was wondering when you’d get home, slowpoke,” she says, kicking the ball to me. I miss, though, and it bounces into the street. We follow it and stand in the middle of the desolate road and kick it back and forth under the yellow glow of the streetlights.

“I was at work,” I say.

“I know. But usually you’re earlier than this.”

I raise my eyebrows. “And you know this how?”

  
She throws her arms in the air defensively. “I have eyes and I live like, five houses down from you.”

“Or you stalk me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy,” she says, and kicks the ball to me extra hard. My reflexes come in clutch this time, though, and I trap it quick. “What took you?”

“Just had a lot of messes to clean up,” I lie. “I was lagging.”

“Bad night to lag,” she says. “Because I need help with my AP Calc homework.”

My eyes widen as I kick the ball to her. “I don’t know anything about math,” I say. “I’m in AP Psych and Lit. The only math in my schedule is personal finance, and I’m not even that good in there.”

She sighs. “I need you, anyway,” she says. “Maybe you can just be fresh eyes to look at it.”

“I mean, I’ll try,” I say. “Where is it?”

“Left it up in my room,” she says, kicking the ball up to her knee and then tucking it under her arm. “Do you wanna come up? My dad is working third shift tonight, and my mom and sister are asleep. At least Prim should be.” She must notice the wary look I’m giving her. “It won’t take that long, come on.” She takes my forearm gently. “I’m not trying to pull anything funny.”

I scoff and laugh at the same time. “I didn’t think that you were.”

  
“You’re looking at me like I’m about to slip something into your drink,” she says as she opens the front door with a long creak. “Sorry about…” She gestures around the house.

She doesn’t finish her sentence and I can’t tell what she’s apologizing for. The house is tidy, quaint and personal. There are school pictures from years’ past lining the mantel above the fireplace in the living room, and pictures decorating the wall on the way up the stairs, but she doesn’t let me pause and study them for long.

“Sorry about it all,” she says again as we go down the short hallway to her room.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s small,” she says.

“Who cares?” I say. “My house is small, too.”

“Yeah, but…” she trails off, flicking on the light to her room. “It’s different. Here. The sheet is right here.”

I look at her confusedly and wonder what about her house bothers her so much. To me, it just seems like a house.

Before looking at her homework, though, I take a moment to glance around her room. I can tell it hasn’t been updated for a while because the walls are still a lilac purple that it seems a younger Katniss would be a fan of. Her furniture is white and worn-in, and there are pictures of she and her friends tacked to corkboards on the wall. On the shelves above her bed are rows of disorganized soccer trophies and medals, all honing in on each other’s space. Discarded clothes are covering a chair in the corner, and her dirty soccer uniform is hanging out of the hamper by the closet.

“Stop looking at my mess,” she says, touching my hand. “I know it’s a wreck.”

“It’s not,” I say, looking down at the paper. My eyes practically bug out of my head when I see all the letters, numbers and symbols combined. “I have no idea what any of this means.”

“Peeta…” she sighs, rubbing her temples. But she still wears a smile. “You’re no help at all.”

“I told you I wouldn’t be,” I say, facing my palms up at her.

“I know, you did say that,” she says. “But I thought a miracle might happen. I can’t do this. My brain hurts. I’ve been working on it for hours.”

“When’s it due?”

“Tomorrow,” she groans, and plunks her head down on her arms.

“Yeah…” I say. “I have no idea. Best case scenario is that you go in early and ask your teacher what the hell is going on.”

“Templesmith is no help,” she says, defeated. “Best case scenario is that I pack up and flee the country.”

“Aw, come on,” I laugh. “I’d miss you.”

“You come, too, then,” she says, her voice still muffled by her arms.

“Deal.”

“We have a homework quiz tomorrow,” she says. “I’m gonna fail. I’m gonna get a big old zero.”

I rack my brain for a solution and end up finding one that might work, and it all comes down to my brother Leo who teaches math back where I used to live. He teaches at the freshman level, but he definitely knows more than I do. “I can call my brother,” I offer.

She crinkles her eyebrows. “What can he do?”

“He’s a 9th grade math teacher.” I shrug. “Can’t hurt, I guess. Better than fleeing the country.”

“True,” she says, pointing in my direction.

“I can.”

“Okay,” she agrees, and lets me have the desk chair while she goes over to sit on the bed with her homework on top of her binder.

I dial Leo’s number while stealing glances over at her. She has the eraser of her pencil between her lips, which is making the lower one pout out in an insanely adorable way. Her legs are long, lean and tan in the electric blue athletic shorts she’s wearing, which are shrouded almost completely by her black hoodie on top.

Leo answers relatively quickly. “Hey, Peeta,” he says, sounding surprised. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, oh yeah,” I say. We exchange pleasantries for a few minutes until I ask him. “Hey, can I get your help with a math problem?”

“Math?” he asks. “I thought you were done with all the hard stuff now. Didn't think it was your thing.”

“It’s…” I debate lying to avoid this conversation, but the truth comes out. “It’s not for me. It’s for my friend. She’s in AP Calc and she’s really stuck.”

“ _She_ …” Leo says, his voice rising.

“Yes,” I say, teeth gritted. “She needs help and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Put her on,” Leo says.

“No, I…I can just relay…”

  
“Come on, Peet, put her on.”

I sigh and give in, extending my hand to Katniss with the phone in it. “He wants to talk to you.”

Her gray eyes widen, but she takes the phone from me and presses it to her ear. “Hello?”

I don’t really listen to the words they exchange, but I watch her as she talks. At some points, Leo makes her smile, but not hugely. Just a small, demure grin that pulls her lips up at the edges. As she follows his directions and frantically writes out the problem, her tongue pushes out between her lips with concentration and I can’t help but smile.

“Okay, okay,” she says, nodding. “I think I got it. Yeah. Yeah, I that's what I got! Thank you. I really do. I do get it now. Thanks, Leo. Yeah, I’ll tell him. Okay, bye.” She hangs up the phone and tosses it back to me. “Your brother’s cool. I get it now and that took like, five seconds!” She giggles. “He also wanted me to tell you that…” Her cheeks flush red. “Next time you call just to solicit his math skills for your girlfriend, he’s gonna have to charge you.”

I’ve never felt my face get as hot as it gets after she says that. I cover it up with both hands and groan. “Oh, god,” I say, long and drawn-out. “Please forget he said that.”

“He’s nice,” she says. “And now we don’t have to flee the country.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I say, and stand up from the desk. “I should get going. I have reading to do for tomorrow, and…” I shake my head. “I’m feeling pretty mortified after what he just said.”

She chuckles and stands up with me. “Oh, Peeta, don’t. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

She stands in the light of her doorway as I walk the short distance back to my house, waving until she can’t see me anymore. Once I’m faced the other way and walking quickly, I let my face break into the craziest, goofiest grin.

I can’t wait to ask her to the dance.

 

After school on Friday, I go to the stadium while Katniss’s soccer practice is going and wait in the bleachers for her to finish. I have the container of cheese buns in a plastic bag on my lap, along with a note that I wrote out the proposal on and painted in watercolors to match the box. I hadn’t meant to go all out with it, but once I started, I couldn’t stop.

My stomach is jumping during her entire practice. So much so that I can hardly concentrate on her darting around the field. When she takes her turn in the goalie stand, she turns at me, sticks her tongue out, and waves gleefully. I hadn’t told her I was coming, and her surprise makes me happy.

A few other people are in the bleachers too on this gray, blustery day, but I can only see the backs of their heads as I sit up towards the top. At 5, when it gets over with, Katniss trots off the field with a red face, guzzling her green Gatorade-brand water bottle that she carries around everywhere, and stops to talk to a guy on the track a good distance away from me.

I can’t tell who it is until they both turn and his side profile is visible. I recognize him instantly then; it’s Gale, her ex, and they’re both smiling, laughing and nodding about something I can’t hear.

My face falls and all of my excitement dies away. I can read her lips saying ‘yeah, yeah’ or something along those lines, and I stand up from the bleachers and walk away before I can see anything else.

I’m fuming and angry at myself when I get into my car and practically throw the cheese bun box in the back seat. I don’t want her to come find me, so I drive off immediately with no end destination in mind. My feelings are hurt that she’d choose him over me, because she obviously did, but I’m angrier at myself than anything. I should’ve acted faster, asked her sooner, or just not have been so stupid as to think she’d choose me at all. My hopes should never have been as high as I’d let them get.

I squeeze the steering wheel as hard as I can and clench my jaw. At a stoplight, I let my head fall back to hit the headrest and let out a long breath. My throat feels tight and clogged like I might cry, but I refuse to let that happen. I’m not going to cry over it. That would just make it worse.

When I get home, I see that I have a few texts from her on my phone.

 

 **5:06pm –** **hey** **where** **’** **d** **u** **go** **?** **U** **were** **supposed** **to** **stick** **around** **!!!!**

 **5:10pm –** **want** **me to stop by ur house?**

 **5:22pm –** **ok** **…** **ur** **cars** **not** **there** **…** **everything** **ok** **?**

 

It’s 5:30 now, and to keep her from worrying, I shoot a quick text back.

 

 **5:31pm –** **everything** **’** **s** **fine** **.** **Just** **had** **to** **run** **.** **Sry** **I** **missed** **you**

I go to bed early in hopes to forget about everything that happened, and it works. I wake up in the morning thankful that it’s a Saturday and I won’t have to see anyone at school, and go into the bakery feeling refreshed from the ample amount of sleep I got last night. Dad is already there when I get in, and he gives me a small wave.

We talk infrequently throughout my shift, and get so busy mid-morning that I don’t notice Katniss come in until she’s standing right across from me in front of the counter. She has on her soccer uniform, ready to head to a game, and an ivory colored visor because it’s pretty sunny out today. When she turns her head to collect Prim from the tables against the wall, I can see that her hat says ‘Always’ on the back right above the hole where her ponytail is coming through. I don’t know what that means, but for some reason I like it.

“Hey,” she says with a smile. “Prim, pick something out. Anything you want.”

Prim does an excited little dance, squealing as she does so. Then she squats down in front of the display case and carefully looks at the selection that she has to decide from.

“What happened yesterday?” Katniss asks me, leaning forward with her palms braced on the counter, looking concerned. “I saw you and then you were gone.”

“Yeah…” I say, my voice fading. “I had something here I had to run and go do.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says skeptically, her eyes slits. “I don’t believe you at all, I hope you know.”

“What?”

She shakes her head. “You saw me talking to Gale, right?” She nods, affirming the answer herself. “It’s not what you think.”

I don’t keep up the guise anymore. “I mean, I don’t care who you talk to or anything like that,” I say.

“We were talking about her,” Katniss says, nudging Prim with her foot. “He picked her up from school yesterday and brought her to his house because it was cold and she didn’t want to come to practice. He has like, a million little siblings that she loves.” She nods slowly, trying to get me to join in. “And when I was done hearing him talk on and on, I really wanted to see _you_. But you disappeared.”

“I…” My mouth opens, but no words come out. I feel so stupid for assuming, and for even thinking I had the platform to assume. “I didn’t…”

She half-smiles. “It’s okay.”

“God,” I say, and can’t think of anything else to say. “It’s just… him…”

“I know. He’s an ass. He’s the worst. But he still helps me with _this_ pain in my ass sometimes.”

Prim glowers at her and then points at something within the glass. “Can I have that?” she asks.

“Sure,” I respond, and pull out an intricate cinnamon roll and put it on a little plate for her, stopping Katniss’s hand when she hands her money to me.

“Peeta Mellark…” she scolds.

“Nope,” I insist. “Not gonna let you.”

“I hate you,” she says, then nods back towards the tables. “Go sit down,” she tells Prim. “I’ll be over.” She faces me again. “There’s something I want to ask you. And if you really think I’m crazy, or pushing you, or that you hate this kind of stuff, just tell me. I’ll understand. But, like…” She sighs and pulls on her ponytail, her eyes darting everywhere in the room but on me. “Would you want to go to Homecoming with me?” Her voice shakes when she asks, and when the words are out, she gives a watery smile.

My mouth drops open and my eyebrows must rocket to the ceiling. “Really?” I ask, and she nods.

“Unless you don’t want to. In that case, please forget that I asked.”

“No, no, no!” I say. “Of course I want to.” I can’t wipe the smile off of my face. “I…um, I was actually going to ask you. Yesterday. But then I saw you with him…and…just yeah. It went all wrong.”

“You were?” she asks, sounding incredulous.

I nod. “I’ll give you what I meant to give you yesterday. Wait one minute.” I hurry to the back of the bakery and come back with the box, which I slide to her over the counter. “Open it.”

She glances up at me curiously and then unties the white ribbon, picking up the parchment paper from the top of the box. In black paint over pink ombre watercolor, I’ve written:

_Katniss –_

_I know it’_ _s_ _cheesy_ _,_ _but_ _will_ _you_ _go_ _to_ _Ho_ _mecoming with me?_

 _PS: I’_ _m_ _sorry_ _for_ _this_ _but_ _I_ _had_ _to_ _._

_Peeta_

After reading it, she looks up at me with a huge smile on her face as she opens the box. “My favorite!” she says excitedly, and takes one out. “I’ve never gotten something like this. Can I pretend I didn’t ask you already, so I can say yes?” I nod. “Then yes. Yes, I’ll go with you.” She giggles and then says, “Come out here. I need to hug you.”

I come out from behind the counter with my apron covered in flour, but she doesn’t care. She hurls herself into my arms and wraps her arms tight around my neck, and I keep a firm hold around the small of her back.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.

**KATNISS**

My soccer game is a blur because of how far my head is in the clouds. The day that the Homecoming posters went up at school was the day I had started hinting to Peeta, but he had taken so long that I thought it went right over his head. So when he told me that he had planned on asking me before I even said anything, it was a total surprise.

My smile lasts all the way through the weekend and into school on Monday morning.

“What are you so happy about?” Johanna asks snidely, sidling up to me as I put my things into my locker.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, standing on tiptoe to place some books on the top shelf.

“Sounds like something,” she says. “Spit it out.”

I put my heels back on the ground and clutch my binder and books close to my chest. “I have a date for the dance,” I say proudly.

“You’re telling me that you…” she begins, raising her eyebrows and leaving her sentence unfinished.

“Peeta,” I finish for her. “I asked him and he asked me.”

She studies me. “Really? Him? Not like… I heard that Tanner likes you. You don’t want to go with him?”

“No, I… who even is that?” I shake my head. “No, I don’t want to go with whoever Tanner is. I want to go with Peeta. It’s actually a really funny story how we decided. Because first I asked him, then found out he was gonna ask me all along…” She gives me a face. “What’s the face for? What do you have against him?”

“Nothing,” she claims.

“You’ve never even met him. You need to. He’s a really great guy.” I can’t help the grin that sneaks onto my face when I talk about him.

“I can see that…” she says surreptitiously. “You’ve been spending like, every waking minute with him.”

“Oh, not true.”

“He’s stealing you from us.”

“Would you stop?” I say, stopping at my classroom. “I’ll ask if he wants to sit at our old table with you guys today.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Cool. Find out.”

I say that I will, and then head into AP Bio. After that class is done, I hurry to gym so I can get there before the bell rings and we have to separate to get changed. We’re luckily starting on our tennis unit today, though, and I plan on partnering up with Peeta.

I wave to him as the girls and boys go into their respective locker rooms and then giggle to myself as I throw my gym bag into my open locker.

“What is going on with you, Katniss?” My friend, Reese, asks. “You’re so smiley.”

“Just happy,” I say, stripping off my school shirt and tossing it into my locker. I throw my nice bra in there too and replace both with a sports bra and an old t-shirt. My jeans follow and after I’m all dressed, I trot out of the locker room and go grab a racquet, then find a net that Peeta and I can use.

“Johanna wants to meet you,” I say, once we’ve started hitting the ball back and forth. I have pretty good hand-eye coordination, and Peeta's hand is steady, too. The ball volleys back and forth with ease. 

“Okay,” he says, sounding suspicious.

“Would you be open to sitting at my old table with them today?” I ask. “I mean, we don’t have to. But it would get them off my ass about it.”

“Everdeen, language,” I hear Mr. Abernathy wheeze, and I bite my lip.

“Oops.”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Peeta says, serving the ball up to me. “I’d like to meet your friends.”

“Me, too,” I say. “And I told Jo about Homecoming.”

“Good,” he says, sounding proud.

“Good,” I repeat back, and feel my heart swell within my chest. I wonder what this means for us, but I don’t have enough courage to ask yet. I don’t want to ruin what we already have.

“What color dress are you wearing, by the way?” he asks, watching the ball that he hit whiz by me after I hardly tried to get it.

“Oh, I’m not sure yet,” I say. “I haven’t even gone shopping, god. Me and Prim…” I trail off, wondering how I’m going to scrape up the money for a dress. I know I’ll be able to figure it out somehow, but my gut twists as I wonder if I’ll have to ask Dad for a loan. I hate doing that. I try to avoid it as much as I can. I have my pay from the tailor shop saved up, but I give most of it to Dad already. And I’m sure Prim has some allowance that she’s stockpiled, but I don't like asking her for help, either. “I don’t know yet. Why?”

He looks at me like it’s an obvious answer. “I have to match you,” he says. “My bow tie, your dress.” I must look confused, because he follows up with, “Come on now, Katniss.”

I chuckle and scoff. “Excuse me,” I say. “My date before you never took the time to think of stuff like that.”

“It’s common knowledge,” Peeta says, shaking his head. “We have to look good.”

“You will,” I say.

“We both know you’ll look way better,” he says, returning the ball I hit to him.

On the outside, I smile. On the inside, I can’t stop stressing about finding the money to get the perfect dress.

On the way to lunch after gym, I make a bold move and take his arm on the way there. I hear whispers behind us, but I do my best to ignore them and see that he’s doing the same as well. I can tell he likes me holding onto him though. He doesn’t do a great job at hiding his feelings on his face.

I go get my hot lunch, and then we walk together over to the table I used to sit at towards the middle of the cafeteria. Sitting around the circle are Johanna, Madge, Annie, Finnick, Delly, Thom and Bristel. There are two empty seats; one that Gale vacated when he and I broke up and the other that I vacated when I up and left them to sit with Peeta every day.

“Hey guys,” I say, giving a small wave. “This is Peeta. Peeta, this is everybody.” I go around the circle and introduce each of them, and he’s kind and gracious to them all as he sits down. I can see them all sizing him up, getting a read on who he is by staring at him, and I will them to stop. I don’t want this to be weird.

Lunch is only 35 minutes, but it feels like it goes by much slower because of how anxious I am that he’ll like them and that they’ll like him. When the bell is about to ring, I lie and say that I forgot something in the gym and ask Peeta if he’ll come with me to get it, which of course he does.

“What did you forget?” he asks as we walk.

“Nothing,” I say. “I just wanted to get out of there.”

“Oh,” he says, looking confused. We stop at the stairs and he leans on the railing as I sit on the bottom step. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “But having you around my friends is weird.”

“Oh,” he says again.

“Not because of you,” I say. “Well, kind of. But I guess…” I laugh at myself. “I guess I just don’t want to share you.”

He laughs. “Wow, Katniss. Okay.”

“And like…I don’t know. They can be judgmental. I don’t want them to judge you.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” he says, but his eyes are still twinkling.

“I know, I know,” I say as I stand up. “I just like it better when me and you sit alone. It’s just easier. Everything isn’t as much of a big deal.”

“I can’t say I disagree,” he says. “But it was just one day.”

“Yeah,” I say, sighing. “I can tell they liked you.”

“You think?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“They were okay, too,” he says. “But you’re right. I prefer just you any day.”

He walks me to my next class, and then separates from me to go to his own. All through the lesson I’m lost in my own head again, thinking about him. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to think of anything else.

When I pick Prim up from school, she hangs out in the tailor shop with me. “Will you go shopping with me after school tomorrow?” I ask her.

She looks up from the book she’s reading. “I think you have soccer,” she says.

“I’m skipping,” I say.

“You can’t skip.”

“I can. Because I need to go shopping for a dress.”

“A dress?” Her interest is piqued. “A dress for what?”

“Homecoming,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“The dance?” she asks. I nod. “You’re going with Peeta!”

I don’t know if she overheard us in the bakery on Saturday or is just a mind-reader. “Yes,” I say.

She claps and wiggles where she sits. “You love Peeta.”

“I do not. Prim, stop. Just answer my question, will you go with me?”

“Sure,” she says. “Can I try on some dresses, too?”

I look back down at the shirt I’m repairing. “Sure,” I say. “You don’t happen to have any spare allowance lying around that you’d loan to me, do you?”

There’s a long pause, and I don’t look up to see her face. “Maybe,” she says.

“I don’t know if I’ll need it. But I can pay you back if you just bring it.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “But only because it’s Peeta.”

At lunch the next day, I overlap Peeta’s hand with my own and trace his knuckles as I talk to him. “What’s your favorite color?” I ask him.

“Orange,” he replies quickly.

I squint my eyes and then glance around the lunchroom. My eyes land on this girl Georgia, who tried to dye her black hair blonde a few days ago and it turned the worst shade of in-between. “Like Georgia’s hair?”

He follows my gaze and stifles a laugh. “No. And you’re so mean.”

I shrug one shoulder and continue to touch his skin. It’s soft and warm, unlike mine which tends to be cold and dry. “So, like what kind of orange?”

“Soft,” he says. “Like the sunset.” I nod, taking this information into account. “What’s yours?” he asks.

“Green,” I say.

“Really,” he says. “Green.” I nod. “Interesting. Are you thinking about dress colors?” I nod again. “I’m sure you’ll look beautiful in any color,” he says, charming as usual.

“You overestimate me,” I tell him, poking his arm. “Me and Prim are going shopping tonight. I realize that I’m cutting it really close, so tonight has to be the night I find one. I think we’re going to look around at Macy’s to see what we can find.”

He raises his eyebrows affirmatively as he chews. “I’m sure you’ll find something,” he says between bites.

“What are you wearing?” I ask.

“Black dress pants, white shirt, black suspenders. Then whatever color dress you choose, I’ll match it with my bow tie like I said.”

“You seem to have this down pat,” I say. “Been to a lot of dances at your old school? I’m sure every girl was falling over herself to ask you.”

He shrugs. “I mean, no, not really. I went with a couple different girls throughout the years but it was never anything special. Never anything like…” He shrugs again. “Yeah. Just dance dates. Never anything more.”

“I see,” I say, trying to read his face with a smile plastered on mine. “They missed out.” His face turns as red as a tomato, and I want badly to reach out and press the backs of my knuckles against his cheek, but I refrain.

When I pick Prim up from school, she’s bouncing with excitement. I told Dad that we might be a bit later coming home because I have to find a dress, and he was reluctant but ultimately said it was fine as long as we’re home by 8.

When we get to the store, there are hardly any people and I tell Prim that this is a very serious mission because I don’t have much time left to prepare. I tell her to find any knee-length, size 2 dress that she thinks is pretty and make a stockpile, and I’d try them all on at the end of our search.

We shop for what seems like forever, but when we come together and make a big pile of dresses in seemingly every color outside of my fitting room, I know that the hard part hasn’t even started yet.

“Oh, boy,” I sigh, and Prim sits down on the bench outside of my room. “Prim, come in here,” I tell her. “I’m gonna need a zipper-upper.”

She sits on a square cube in the corner of my dressing room as I try on dress after dress after dress. From turquoise, to yellow, to black, nothing is going right. Some of fabrics irritate my skin, some are too big, and some are just plain ugly.

“It _has_ to be perfect,” I say to her after probably twelve or fifteen duds. “It just has to be.”

“It’s gonna be,” she assures me, sounding wiser than her eight years. “We’re gonna find it. We still have a ton left. Just wait.”

The perfect one doesn’t turn up, though. We go through my entire pile of dresses and even after the very last one, are left emptyhanded and exhausted. I collapse on the floor next to my sister and feel her looking down at me, but can’t muster the energy to look back up.

“Maybe we should do one more round,” she offers.

My shoulders slump in towards themselves. “I don’t know if I can,” I admit.

“Come on, Katniss,” she says encouragingly. “We have to.”

I bury my face in my hands. “It’s not here.”

“You don’t know,” she says, pulling me up by my hands. “Let’s go look one more time.”

We walk out of my dressing room, headed towards the dress department again, but before we can even leave the fitting area I stop dead in my tracks.

“Prim, wait,” I say. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“What?” she asks, spinning back around to look at me.

“Look.” I point forward, bringing her close to me. Hanging on the discarded rack is a short, deep red dress with a chiffon skirt and a jeweled upper half. It’s sleeveless with a high neck and an open back, and from what I can see, it looks perfect.

I walk over to it and check out the size, then turn back to Prim with wide eyes. “It’s a 2,” I say, dumbfounded, and then snatch it off the rack.

I pull it haphazardly onto my body in the dressing room and then twirl around to look in the mirror. I cover my mouth with my hands and let out an excited squeal; this is the first thing that’s looked not only good on me, but amazing.

I step out of the room and Prim’s eyes widen. “Katniss, It’s so pretty!” she shrieks, and stands so she can jump up and down. “You have to get it. You have to!”

“I want to, I want to,” I tell her, and then lift the skirt to check out the price tag. I’m scared to look, but I force myself. I grit my teeth when I see the number, and then look at her with chagrin. “It’s $100,” I say.

“I can help,” she says. “I’ve been saving up.”

“I can do it,” I say, calculating in my head. “Just no treats for us for a while. Can we do that?” She nods. “You keep your money,” I tell her. “I can buy this. It’s enough that you came here with me.”

I undress myself and then walk to the cash register with the dress cradled in my arms. When I go to pay, Prim hands a $20 to the associate, even as I try to stop her. “Prim, no,” I hiss. “I told you, I got this.”

“I want to help,” she says. “I want to. Please, Katniss?”

“Prim…”

“I want to be a part of it,” she practically begs. “You said I could.”

I give in then and let her pay $20 of the bill. “Thank you,” I say quietly, once the dress is in a bag and we’re headed out the door.

She grabs my hand and swings my arm. “I love you,” she says, out of the blue. “You’re gonna look like a magical princess for the dance.”

“I love you, too, little duck,” I say, and kiss the side of her head. We can’t stop talking about the dance for the whole way home.

The rest of the week is abuzz with Homecoming prep and excitement, and Peeta and I are definitely part of it. Once I tell him the color of my dress, everything is solidified and seems more real than it did before.

The look of excitement on his face when I told him made my heart do a big flip and land in my gut. I’ve never felt like this towards anyone, so I hardly know what to make of it. Being around him makes me so nervous, but at the same time there isn’t anyone else I’d rather be around. It’s such a strange, contradictory sensation.

Instead of going to the Homecoming game on Friday night, I end up getting called in to cover a shift at the tailor shop. Peeta and I had planned on going to the game together, so I feel bad when I text him and tell him that I can’t go.

I’m sitting at the sewing machine, repairing away, when I hear the bell on the front door ring as someone comes in.

“Hi,” I say, without looking up.

“Randy here,” I hear, and then look up with my eyes wide and excited.

“Peeta,” I breathe, and pause my sewing. “What are you doing?”

He sets a brown paper bag down on the desk and pushes it towards me with a bashful grin on his face. “I thought you might be hungry. And maybe want some company. So I thought of a way to fix both those things.”

I open the bag and pull out a few of my beloved cheese buns. “Oh, my god, thank you,” I say, and take a huge bite. “You made my night.”

He smiles again and sits down in a chair across from me, making small talk as I continue to work. He talks about the latest book he’s reading for AP Lit, which is _Pride and Prejudice_ , and how he’s never really connected with it before now, but this time he really likes it. I listen and drink in every word he’s saying, so interested in the stimulating conversation he can always keep up. I’m never bored around him.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asks me, interrupting his own tangent about the AP Lit teacher and her affinity for him.

I take pause on my sewing and look up at him, studying his face as I think. His jaw seems more chiseled than ever as he chews on the peppermint gum that I can smell from here, and his blue eyes are sparkling in the low light of the little shop. His hair is a bit wild on top of his head, tousled from the autumn Michigan wind outside, but I love the way it looks on him.

“I’m not sure,” I say, and continue to think. “Maybe _The Book Thief_ or _My Sister’_ _s_ _Keeper_.”

He makes a small sound. “ _Sister’_ _s_ _Keeper_ would make sense. You are Prim’s keeper, basically.”

“True,” I say, and nod. “What’s your favorite?”

“Oh, god,” he says. “I have so many. It’s hard to choose.”

“Okay, nerd.”

He laughs. “Who you calling nerd, science geek?”

“Ooh, got me,” I say under my breath, and we both giggle. “Answer the question, pretty please.”

He thinks for a while. “Probably _Twilight_ ,” he says, and I have to look up at him because his voice sounds so deadpan serious. He can’t keep his straight face for long, though, he starts to crack up as soon as I meet his eyes. “Team Edward for life,” he says.

“Get fucked, I’m totally Team Jacob,” I say, my face splitting with a smile.

“Okay, okay, real talk,” he says. “My favorite book is probably… _Fahrenheit 451_.”

I raise my eyebrows and pick the shirt up away from the machine. “Never heard of it,” I say.

“Very dystopian,” he says. “Kind of hard to explain. You should read it sometime.”

“Sounds like a lot for me,” I say, snapping out the repaired shirt and hanging it back up. “And another one bites the dust,” I say in reference to finishing it, and he starts to sing the the song, and I giggle. “You’re an idiot,” I say. “A very charming idiot, but an idiot.”

“I’ll take it.”

When it’s time to close up shop, Peeta offers to drive me home and I don’t put up a fight this time. Plus, spending time with him beats walking home in the freezing wind any day.

His car is warm and cozy as we drive down the main road, and he turns up the radio as _Cake by the Ocean_ by DNCE comes on.

As the volume gets louder on the song, so does the volume of his voice. He starts to sing along very badly and very passionately, and he creates such a spectacle that I double in half laughing so hard that I can’t breathe.

“Talk to me, baby!” he shrieks. “I’m going blind from this sweet craving, whoa-oh! Let’s lose our minds and go fucking crazy!” Of course, he shouts the expletive over where the radio censors it out. “Ah ya ya ya ya I keep on hoping we’ll eat cake by the ocean floor!”

I wipe the tears away from the corners of my eyes. I still can hardly breathe. “You sound like shit!” I shout over the music, but my words get lost with his singing and my continued laughter.

“I keep on hoping we’ll eat cake by the ocean floor!”

I catch my breath for long enough to turn the stereo dial down. “What the fuck are you saying, ocean floor?” He nods enthusiastically. “Wrong lyrics, you dumbass!” He rolls his eyes and turns the music back up, uncaring, and continues to sing horribly until we turn into our neighborhood.

He pulls up into my driveway and turns the radio off. I feel winded and spent from how hard I’ve been laughing, and just sit there shaking my head. “You’re insane,” I say.

“I prefer spirited,” he corrects.

“That, too,” I say. “So tomorrow. I have a game at 1, but it’ll be over by 2:30. Then I’m going home to get ready. You coming to see me play?” I get out of the car, but bend over so I can still see him.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says. “And anyway, I’m your good luck charm.”

“Big-ass ego,” I say. “See you tomorrow.” I wave to him as he drives away, and then again when I see him pull up in his own driveway.

I try to force myself to sleep when I lay down, even though it feels like I could stay up all night because of how wired my excitement has made me. Before I shut my light off, I turn over on my side and look at my dress that’s hanging on my closet door, in perfect view. I smile as I stare at it, and my stomach jumps with jitters at the prospect of tomorrow night.

“Go to sleep, go to sleep,” I will myself, and shut my eyes. After what seems like forever, I still am lying there awake as ever, though, so I pull out my phone and squint at the brash brightness. After my eyes adjust, I pull up Peeta’s messages and text him.

 **11:04pm –** **cant** **sleep** **!!!!!**

I see his typing bubble come up within seconds of me sending my message. I feel the corners of my lips pull up as I wait for his response.

 **11:05pm –** **me** **neither** **and** **have** **an** **early** **shift** **tomorrow** **!!!!** **Wtf** **is wrong w us**

I type back right away.

**11:05pm – way too excited. Just want it to be tomorrow night NOW tbh**

I wonder if I came on too strong and chew on the inside of my lower lip.

 **11:06pm –** **same** **here** **.** **I** **cant** **wait** **to**   **see**   **u in your red dress ;)**

My cheeks heat up so quickly that a rush floods through my entire body. I blink my eyes open wide and my heart speeds up tenfold.

 **11:06pm –** **im** **sure** **you** **clean** **up** **better** **than** **I** **could** **ever** **dre** **am of, pretty boy**

I press my phone to my chest as I wait for his message to come in.

 **11:06pm –** **doubtful** **.** **Very** **very** **doubtful** **,** **pretty** **girl**

I practically shriek as I lay there in the dark, but I don’t want to wake up my family so the best I can do is thrash around and smile my face off.

 **11:07pm –** **youre** **actually** **going** **to** **kill** **me** **.** **Omg** **.** **I** **have** **to** **go** **now** **before** **I** **totally** **EMBARRASS** **myself** **.** **Gn** **pee** **ta** ❤️️

Adding the heart emoji was taking a leap of faith, but I feel good about it. And luckily, he responds in the way I want him to.

 **11:07pm –** **night** **Katniss** ❤️️

There’s absolutely no way I’m sleeping now.


	7. Chapter 7

**KATNISS**

I wake up in the morning and immediately feel excited. Today’s the day! I lay in my bed for a while and check my notifications, which include a good morning text from Peeta at 5am, and then text him back. I know he won’t be able to answer, but he’ll see it when he gets done at work and is headed over to my game.

It’s about lunchtime now, since I’ve let myself sleep in. I walk downstairs and eat some cold macaroni and cheese that Prim must've made earlier, and watch cartoons with her for a while until I have to get my soccer clothes on. While I’m packing my bag, Dad gets home and from work and walks in the door, giving us each kiss on the head as he comes in.

“Gonna try to be awake to see you off for the dance tonight,” he says gruffly, pouring his cold cup of coffee down the drain.

“Really?” I ask. “You don’t have to. I know how tired you are.”

“Katniss,” he says. “Yeah, yeah, being tired. You’re my baby girl, and this is your last Homecoming. I wanna take some pictures, see you off, be a proud dad. Can you let me do that for you?”

  
I grin. “Yeah, I can let you do that.”

“Okay,” he says. “See you later. Where’s your sister?”

  
“Watching cartoons,” I say, throwing the words over my shoulder. “Been at it for a while. Tell her to do some homework or go outside or something.”

He gives me a wave, and I happily leave the house to head to the stadium. When I get there, I sit out during the first quarter which is fine with me. When I go in during the second, I glance up to see Peeta in the bleachers waving at me. My performance picks up once I know he’s there, and by the end of the game we’ve won by a landslide.

In typical fashion, I ditch my team and cart my stuff up the bleacher stairs and throw myself into Peeta’s arms.

“Congratulations,” he says, his voice close to my ear. “You big old ball hog.”

“Just being my showoff self,” I say, still holding onto his biceps after we break apart from our hug. He brushes a piece of my damp hair off of my forehead and somehow still makes me feel beautiful as I stand before him drenched in sweat and covered in dirt and grime from the field.

I glance at my phone and see that it’s closer to 3 than I thought. “Hey, I gotta get home,” I say, urging him along. “If you want me to look anywhere close to respectable tonight, then I have to start getting ready. I’m supposed to be meeting everyone at Jo’s at 3:30. I have to shower before then! I’m so gross.”

“You’re not even that bad,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we walk.

“I’m pretty bad, wanna sniff?” I ask, lifting up my arm so my armpit is close to his face. He sniffs in, and pretends to faint. “Ass,” I say, and punch him.

When he drops me off, I pat his arm and say, “So, back here at 7?” I confirm. “It’ll just be me,” I promise him. “Everyone’s going off their own ways after Jo’s house. It won’t be like a big, crazy thing.”

“Just us,” he solidifies.

“Just us,” I repeat, and squeeze his wrist. “I’ll see you then, all decked out. I can’t wait.”

“Me, neither,” he says, and his eyes are glinting.

I hurry inside and shower the filth from my body, then get my stuff together that I’ll need to get ready with at Jo’s. Right on time, I see Madge’s car outside, so I hurriedly pack up my last few things and then give Prim a kiss on her cheek as she sits at the kitchen table with paper and colored pencils spread out everywhere around her.

“Be back in a few hours,” I say. “There are Lean Cuisines in the freezer if you get hungry.”

“Okay,” she says, and hugs me tight. “You’re coming back here to show me your dress, right?”

“Of course,” I say. “Be back soon.”

I wave my sister goodbye and get into Madge’s car feeling excited and breathless. “Hey,” she says, and throws it into reverse. I keep all my stuff in a pile on my lap. “You smell good.”

“Just got out of the shower,” I say, and lift up a section of my wet hair. “My game went long. I had to hurry a little.”

“I would’ve waited,” she says, eyes on the road as we drive the short distance to Jo’s.

“Jo would’ve been pissed,” I say, and we both chuckle as her house comes into view. When we arrive, Madge gets her garment bag from the back seat and I cart my own stuff in, and thankfully Jo is holding open the front door. When Madge and I go in, I can see that a bunch of our other girlfriends are already here. Ellie, April, Christina, Delly, and Annie are all in the living room with their hair in mid-stages of getting done, eating snacks.

“Hey, guys!” Ellie says excitedly. Her hair is already in curls around her shoulders. Both Jo’s mom and sister are hairdressers, which is why we always come to her house to get ready. No one can make us look better than they can.

“You two need to get in the chairs, like now,” Jo says. “You’re late. Tell Mom and Natalie what you want and they’ll do it.”

I sit down in a makeshift hair station that they’ve created in the dining room after giving Jo’s mom, Hattie, a hug. She’s known me since I was a kid, so we’re basically family.

“I don’t really know what I want,” I tell her. “You can choose. I always like what you pick.” I trust her, and just sit back as she works her magic on my hair. As Hattie is busy on top of my head, Delly goes to work on my face in applying makeup. I show her the color of my dress and she takes note, adding deep red accents to my eyeshadow when she gets to that point.

After more than an hour, I’m finally done. Hattie walks around to the front of me and nods at the work she’s done, then holds up a handheld mirror so I can see for myself.

She’s turned my dark brown hair into an ocean of curls, pulled back from my face with a braided crown. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. “I love it,” I say. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no trouble,” she says. “You know I love your hair. You look beautiful, Katniss.”

I stand up and fluff it, and then get fawned over by the other girls for a while as they take in my new look. I go and join them on the couch, and Christina pets my curls gently. “Peeta is gonna freak,” she says.

The group goes quiet for a beat and the only sound in the room is that of the TV. “Oh, I almost forgot that you’re going with him,” Jo says.

I try to keep an upbeat tone. “What about it?” I ask.

She shrugs. “It just seems weird. He was kind of weird at our table the other day.”

I frown. “You guys were intimidating. He’s shy.”

“I still don’t really get why you picked him,” April says. “It just seems random. Like, where did he come from?”

“Up north,” I say. “He moved here because his dad-”

“I mean, we get that,” Jo cuts in. “But there are a ton of other boys at school who’d like, die to go with you. And you pick him. It just came out of nowhere.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t know why I always have to get the third degree about it,” I say crossly.

“We’re just curious!” Madge says, trying to be the peacemaker. “We don’t know him that well and we just want the best for you.”

I scoff a little bit, feeling that chip on my shoulder. “He is the best thing for me, especially after the motherfucker. And it doesn’t feel like that, anyway, that you want the best for me. It feels like you’re judging me. And him.”

“We’re totally not,” Ellie says. “That’s not it at all.”

I start to feel cornered with all of their eyes on me. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” I say.

“Katniss, don’t say that,” Annie pipes up. “Guys, leave her alone. If she likes Peeta, then she likes Peeta.”

“I still don’t like it when you talk about him like he’s a charity case,” I say. “He’s not. I’m not going with him because I feel sorry for him or anything. We’re really good friends. He gets me.”

“Friends don’t hold hands,” Delly points out.

I shoot her a look. “We don’t,” I say.

“I’ve seen you do it at lunch before,” she counters.

“Why are you stalking me?” I ask, and can feel the argumentative tone rising in my voice. “I didn’t come here to get interrogated. So what, I like a boy. So what? So what?”

They all seem to smile at once, and then start nodding. “You do like him,” Christina says.

“Well, I mean, duh,” I say. “I’m going to the dance with him. You guys are so stupid. You make such a big deal out of every little thing.”

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Jo says. “We don’t care that much about your life.”

“Except for the fact that you do,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “I can’t even hold hands with a guy without secret agent Delly keeping tabs on me.” There’s a laughing tone in my voice now that wasn’t there before. Now that the cat’s out of the bag that I like him, everything seems easier. I didn’t think I’d be relieved once they knew, but I am. I don’t feel like I’m keeping a secret anymore, and maybe now they’ll get off my back about it.

“Have you guys kissed?” Ellie asks, leaning forward.

“No,” I say quickly, and lean back on the couch. “We haven’t really done anything except hold hands and hug. You know. It’s… not like that. It’s slow.”

“What are you waiting for?” Christina asks.

I laugh, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I don’t want to scare him off.”

“Katniss,” Jo says seriously. “Have you seen the way the boy looks at you?” I shrug and shake my head. “He’s fucking _in love_ with you. Nothing you do at this point could scare him off.”

I scoff. “If you’re so sure he’s in love with me, why were you all on me for having him as my date?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “We don’t wanna see you get fucked over again.”

“Well,” I say surely. “Peeta isn’t like that.”

 

Once everyone is dressed, we take a slew of pictures together and then all leave to go our separate ways. Madge drops me back off at my house, and when I get out of the car I can’t stop wringing my hands. I’m suddenly so nervous for Peeta to see me. I hope he thinks I look pretty.

I open the door and find Prim waiting at the bottom of the stairs in an old dress of mine. It’s pink with a tulle skirt with flower decals on the frills, and a thick white ribbon at the waist. “Well, look at you,” I say, and she stands up. “You’re all dressed up.”

“I wanted to be fancy, too,” she says, and hugs me. “You look like a princess.”

“So do you,” I say and my stomach drops when I hear a knock at the door. “That’s him,” I whisper.

Just as I turn to answer it, I hear my dad’s footsteps on the steps as he descends. “That your boy?” he asks, his voice gravelly from sleep.

I nod shakily, swallowing as I do so. “I can get it.”

“Let me,” he says, but I follow him. I want to get our pictures outside, not in here.

Dad opens the door and I see Peeta there, dressed in black dress pants, suspenders, a white dress shirt and a deep red bow tie, just like he said he would be. He’s holding a plastic container with a corsage inside, and his eyes are darting everywhere, presumably looking for me.

“You must be Katniss’s date,” Dad says, opening the door a bit wider.

“Peeta, sir,” he says, and I notice that his voice is shaking slightly. “Peeta Mellark.”

“I remember,” Dad says, sounding congenial. “I’m Mike. Her dad, obviously. I met your parents at the beginning of the summer.”

“Right,” Peeta says, anchoring both hands on the corsage.

“She wants to come outside to get some pictures, you up for that?” Dad asks, and Peeta nods. Dad ushers me out, and Peeta sees me for the first time.

His eyes don’t move for the longest time as he takes in the sight of me. “Wow,” he breathes, and I hear the plastic creak as he squeezes the corsage box a little too tight. “You look beautiful, Katniss.”

I blush. “Thanks.” I walk over to him and give him a chaste hug. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Well, I…” he stammers. “You look…” He gets flustered as his words won’t come out. “Yeah.”

“C’mon, Prim,” Dad calls, and Prim scampers out of the house to stand on the porch.

“Oh, Prim, you dressed up too,” Peeta says, sounding cheerful. “Well, you’ll have to get in some of the pictures.”

“She doesn’t…” I trail off, but he stops me.

“She dressed up,” he says. “She looks wonderful. You look wonderful, Prim. It’d be a crime not to get some photos of you.”

She squeals, presses her hands to her cheeks, and looks up at Dad for validation. He nods and raises his eyebrows, positioning the camera as Peeta and I pose in the lawn.

“Here, I’ve seen this before,” Dad says. “Son, get the flower out and put it on her wrist. Then I’ll get a picture of that.”

As he takes the corsage out, I realize that I didn’t return the favor. “I didn’t get you one,” I say, suddenly fretting.

He whispers as he puts it on me, knowing Dad is snapping photos. “It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t need one. I just wanted to get this for you, since green is your favorite.” I look down and see the green theme of the flowers, mixed with red that matches my dress perfectly. I practically melt right there in the yard.

After Peeta and I are done posing, I wave Prim over. She plasters herself to my side with her arms tight around my waist, flashing a cheesy grin. We get plenty of pictures of the three of us, and then it’s time for Peeta and I to get going.

I walk up to Dad in my high heels and he gives me a kiss on the forehead. “Have fun,” he says. “Be home by 1. No drinking, no drugs, and no sex.”

My eyes widen and I really hope that Peeta didn’t hear that. “ _Dad_ ,” I hiss.

“You heard me,” he says, then moves to shake Peeta’s hand. “It was good to officially meet you. Have fun tonight, but not too much fun. Or I’ll get you.” He stares Peeta down with a deadpan look, but then breaks into a smile and laugh. “I’m just joking, son. Have a good night. Let’s go back in, Prim.” They both go inside and wave to us from the front window as we get into the car. Once we’re alone in the silence, I feel like I can let out the big breath that I’d been holding the whole time Peeta and my dad were in the same place together.

“That was a lot,” I say, resting my head back against the headrest.

He grips the steering wheel tight as he reverses out of my driveway. “It definitely was,” he says. “But I think it went well.”

“Oh yeah, he likes you,” I say. “I don’t think he ever said more than two words to Gale in the whole time we saw each other. I think he wants to adopt you.”

Peeta laughs and then glances quickly over at me. “You really do look beautiful,” he says quietly. “I didn’t wanna say it too much, you know, while your dad was right there because…weird, but… you do. I…” He closes his mouth and smiles bashfully. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” I say, crossing one leg fluidly over the other. “You look pretty amazing, too, you should know.”

“Oh, stop,” he says. “Whatever.”

“You do,” I tell him, and face him with one elbow rested on the console. When we pull up to the school, he parks the car and I take his hand as we walk through the doors. I want to start the night off right.

When we get inside, the lights are dim and the music is already bumping. I can see my girls spread out around the gym; Jo is dancing, Madge is by the water fountain, and Ellie and Christina are sitting at a table deep in conversation. I wave to Madge, who catches my eye as she stands with her boyfriend, Landon, and she throws a wink in my direction.

“Do you wanna dance?” I ask him, raising my voice over the heavy beats. He agrees wholeheartedly, and we make our way out onto the dance floor where _Juju On That Beat_ is playing. We don’t know the dance moves, but we make up our own. Peeta isn’t a bad dancer at all; he has complete control over his body. I’m sure I just look like I’m being electrocuted, but I have fun nonetheless.

The DJ, who is probably just a student at the community college in the next town over, plays a few fast songs and then slows it down. Everyone on the dance floor stops jumping and gyrating, and we all collectively pause and catch our breath.

“Wanna stay?” he asks. “Dance to this?”

It’s _When We Were Young_ by Adele, and there’s no way I’m turning down a slow dance. “Of course,” I say, and then get closer to him.

He wraps his arms around the small of my back, and I wrap mine around his neck. We’re not out of place by any means; every couple has stayed on the dance floor so they can sway to this song.

We’re so close that I can smell his subtle cologne and feel his heart beating. I look up into his face to see that he’s already looking down at me, and we both smile shyly at each other. He starts singing the words softly to me, “You still look like a movie, you still sound like a song… my god, this reminds me of when we were young…”

I blink slowly and sing quietly along with him for a few bars, but then stop and rest my head on his chest as he continues. I can hear him with my ear against the vibrations, and close my eyes and smile to myself. I never want this song to end.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says, as the song drifts on. I nod against his shirt, and we keep on swaying until the song ends and a fast one starts up again.

I lift my head up as we separate and hold onto one of his hands. “Can we go somewhere quiet?” I ask, and he agrees. We walk away from the crowd, hand-in-hand, getting a reprieve from the intrusive noise.

There are people everywhere inside the school, so we leave the school through the main doors and are blanketed in new, refreshing silence. The quiet is nice, but it’s still mid-October and the air has a bite to it, so I wrap my arms around myself and shiver.

“I have a jacket in my car you can use,” he says, and we stop there before continuing our walk. He pulls the suit jacket out of the back seat and drapes it over my shoulders, which makes me feel much warmer. “Better?” he asks, and I nod.

“Much,” I say, and pull it tight around me. It smells just like him, and I never want to give it back.

We lay on the hood of his car with our backs on the windshield and stare up at the twinkling stars, still vaguely able to hear the bump of the bass from inside the school. But we’re far away from it now.

I grasp his hand that’s resting between our bodies and don’t say a thing. We had stayed inside for about an hour, and I think that was enough for both of us.

“Thanks for including my sister earlier,” I whisper into the darkness, breaking the silence.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “She’s a cutie.”

“She’s something,” I say, turning my head so I can look at him.

“So are you,” he says. “Something. You Everdeens sure have… something.”

I squeeze his hand. “What’s that mean?”

“You’re supposed to just read my mind,” he says, turning his head now, too.

“Yeah, right,” I say. “There’s way too many thoughts in there for me to get through.”

“True, I’m very smart,” he says, chuckling.

“Don’t go that far,” I say. “I didn’t say they were smart thoughts.”

“Touché,” he counters.

We’re quiet for a long time again, our fingers still locked together. In the starry darkness, it feels like we’re the only two people on the earth. “Peeta,” I whisper, my words directed up at the sky.

“Hmm,” he responds.

“I…” My voice breaks as I lose confidence on what I want to say next. I force it out, though. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

I turn to look at him and see that he’s already had his eyes on me. I sit up, and he follows my lead. We’re as close as possible on the hood of his car; our legs pressed flush to each other from our hips all the way down to the points of our knees.

“Me neither,” he breathes, and rests his hand on my mid-thigh. My eyes dart down to his lips and I watch his do the same with mine, and suddenly our heads are moving closer to each other. My heart feels too big for my chest; any minute now I think it’s going to explode right through. Within seconds, our lips are pressed against each other and I’m kissing Peeta Mellark for the very first time.

My hands move from my lap to his neck, and he leaves one of his on my thigh and winds the other one around my back. His lips are smooth and soft; supple against mine. I leave my eyes closed until we part, and then close them once more when we kiss again. Once the second one is over with, I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck, smiling uncontrollably.

“Oh, wow,” he breathes, and pulls his hands off me like my body is on fire once we separate.  

Our faces are still just inches apart; I can feel his breath whispering softly over my cheeks. It smells like cinnamon gum that he must’ve been chewing at some point during the night, but isn’t any longer.

“I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time,” he says softly, getting up the courage to touch me again. He brushes his thumb over one of my cheekbones and I lean into his hand, letting my eyelids flutter shut.

“Me, too,” I admit, and wrap my fingers around his wrist. “I kind of want to do it again.”

He holds my chin and draws my face close to his, and without wasting any time our lips are pressed up against each other again. I do my best to memorize him, though I’m sure this is nowhere near the last time we’ll be in this position. I slide my hands around his waist and try and pull myself closer, even though it’s impossible at this point. We’re already as close as humanly possible.

Interrupting us, I hear my name being shouted in a brash tone from far away.

“Everdeen!” Peeta and I jolt away from each other and I gape, open-mouthed, in the direction of the sound. I squint my eyes and can see that it’s Mr. Abernathy, who chaperoned the dance. “No physical affection! Get the heck off that car and go home!”

Peeta and I dissolve into giggles that come from knowing we’re doing something that we’re not supposed to. We jump off the hood of the car and get inside, and speed away from the school towards our neighborhood.

Once we’re on the main road, I turn my head to look at him. “I should go home, but I don’t want to,” I say, my voice dreamy. I reach over and trace his jaw with one finger and watch his eyes sparkle.

“I know,” he says. “But your dad will be happy that you made curfew.”

“Yeah…” I trail off. “You’re right. As usual.”

“I could get used to hearing that,” he says, tipping his head to look at me.

“You won’t,” I tease, and try to control the butterflies in my stomach as we pull up in my driveway. I can see that all the lights in the house are off; it’s almost midnight and everyone is asleep. I shift in my seat so I’m facing him and sigh. “Tonight was…” I start, but can’t finish.

“I know,” he says. “I wish it didn’t have to end.”

“Me, too,” I whisper through the darkness. His face is only illuminated by the blue light of the clock radio on the dashboard.

Out of nowhere, I lean forward and take his jaw in my hands and kiss him for the last time tonight. It’s a different kiss than the ones from before; this time, his lips part and his tongue invites my own into his mouth. I lean into him, curving my shoulders inwards, but only let us go so far. When we break apart, I’m breathless and overwhelmed.

“See you at school,” I say, and then run inside my house while feeling his eyes on me the whole way.

Once I’m inside, I press my back against the front door and have the urge to shriek, but I keep it inside. I hurry up the stairs, still in my heels, and then shut the door to my room so the lock makes the quietest click possible. I stand there for a second, in the middle of my dressers, bed and closet, and everything seems different because of him.

I collapse on my bed without bothering to take my dress off, and stare at the ceiling with a huge, dopey grin on my face.

I just kissed a boy and he kissed me back.

I’ve kissed boys before, but never like that. No, not ever anything like that.

 

In the morning, I wake up and the house is abuzz with noise. It’s usually silent on Sunday mornings because Dad works first shift instead of third and Prim sleeps in, but today it’s different.

I slide out of bed and hear two voices in the kitchen; Prim’s and Mom’s. I screw up my eyebrows and pick up my sequined dress from where I had discarded it on the floor last night and throw it on my bed. I walk out of my room dressed in soccer sweatpants with my number 3 on the hip and a long-sleeved black shirt from a 5k I ran last year with Jo, and go slow in the hallway so I can make sure I’m hearing what I think I am.

Mom hasn’t left her room for more than minutes at a time for weeks. The last time was for my choir concert, and even then, she disappeared again right when we got back home. In the beginning of the school year she was out more; not talking much but at least showing her face, but as the weather has gotten colder she’s been becoming scarcer and scarcer.

I’m used to it at this point. Her empty spot at the table doesn’t catch a second glance from me and I don’t miss her. It’s easier for me when she stays away because it doesn’t confuse Prim. And now, by just hearing the upward-lilting tones in my sister's voice as she talks to our mother, I can tell her hopes are up.

And Mom won’t be there as her shoulder to cry on when those hopes are dashed. That’s my job: to clean up after the messes Mom makes.

I step into the kitchen and stand in the entryway for only a second before I’m noticed.

“Katniss!” Prim says excitedly, and I see that the kitchen is a mess. I have no idea what they’re doing, but they haven’t bothered with cleanliness. For Prim, it’s okay because she’s eight. In Mom’s case, it’s unacceptable but not unexpected.

“Finally, finally,” Mom says, and I can see that she’s dug out her chef hat and apron. “Come over here and help us. We’re cooking a breakfast feast.”

I glare at her reproachfully. “Did you take your medicine?” I ask, skirting around the table and staying as far away from her as I can.

She scoffs at me, like what I’ve said is so off-color. “Katniss, it’s not your job to worry about that,” she says.

“So you didn’t,” I finish. “Don’t do this, mom. Please.”

Mom looks at Prim conspiratorially. “She’s no fun, is she?” She plants her hands on her hips. “Spoiled sport.”

“Spoil sport!” Prim echoes, giggling.

I don’t take Mom’s bait. I never do and never have, not even when I was younger. Prim can’t help it; she wants to be close to our mother so badly.

“It’s a mess in here,” I say, walking further into the kitchen to gather some bowls and ingredients they’ve spread everywhere to put them away. “Are you planning on cleaning this before Dad gets home?”

“If we get there,” Mom says.

“Daddy will love our feast so much he won’t even care about the mess,” Prim says, and those sound like words that were fed to her.

I close my eyes and massage my temples, wishing desperately that I’d just stayed in my room. I could’ve spent the morning in there, thinking about Peeta and last night. And later, maybe snuck out to see him without these two asking where I’m going.

“He’ll care,” I assure them, and then make pointed eye contact with Mom. “You know he’ll care.”

“Oh, he’ll get over it,” she says, waving me off. “Let us have some fun, would you? If you’re gonna act like this, I’d just rather you leave.”

My eyes flit to Prim and I can easily see she’s torn. Her blue eyes shift over to me and I can practically see her cogs working, wondering who to side with. She presses her pink lips together and adjusts the lopsided chef hat atop her blonde head and ends up saying nothing.

“Prim,” I say firmly. “After you’re done playing, you need to get a start on your homework.”

“Why?” she whines, shoulders collapsing.

“So you don’t leave it all until tonight, like me,” I say, and then add, “Listen to your sister momma.” I throw the nickname out just to stick it to my mother, and I know it works. She physically recoils by hearing it and I feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

“Okay,” Prim agrees.

“We’re not just _playing_ ,” Mom pipes up, a manic smile painted on her face. “We’re professional chefs and we must get back to our recipes. Isn’t that right, Primrose?”

I walk away before I can hear anything more of their conversation, and shut myself back into my room, shaking my head along the way. I text Dad, knowing he’ll see it once he gets out of work. 

**10:58am –** **mom** **’s up again and it’** **s** **bad** **.** **Hurry** **home** **when** **u** **get** **o** **ff bc she has prim all wound up. Need help**  

I lock myself in my room and try to busy myself with homework, but it proves to be impossible. The noise they continue to make downstairs is impossible to ignore, even when I put on my headphones I can still hear them straight through. Finally, fed up with the interruptions, I give up on my homework and pick up the phone call Peeta instead. The phone rings and then goes to voicemail, and I realize that he must be working his morning shift at the bakery and won’t be off for a few more hours.

I lay on my bed and listen to music for a little while until I can’t take the cantankerous noise downstairs anymore. I get in the shower, and when I get out it’s still just as boisterous as before and I’m fed up. I dry off angrily, and with wet, wavy hair, descend the stairs and show up in the kitchen again.

“Would you guys-” I start to say, but get cut off.

Both Mom and Prim flip around; now both are wearing aprons and have flour poofs everywhere on their bodies. Mom’s eyebrows are raised and a hyper smile is pulling at the threads of her lips. “You know what I heard, Katniss?” she asks, ignoring the fact that I had been speaking first. “I heard you went out with a boy last night.” She sets down her cooking utensils and walks towards me, stopping at the midpoint to lean with her elbows resting on the kitchen island. I can feel Prim’s eyes on me, but I don’t look over at her. I concentrate on our mother only. “So, what happened? Did you guys kiss? Is he your boyfriend?” There’s a long, steely silence that follows. “Oh come on, Katniss. You can tell me. I’m your mom.”

I clench my fists at my sides and dig my nails into the fleshy part of my palms, surely leaving imprints. I grit my teeth and close my eyes for a beat longer than a blink, then reopen them to stare hard into her face. “It’s none of your business,” I growl.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, seemingly innocent. “Of course it’s my business. You’re my baby. Both of my girls are getting so big.” With that sentiment, she wraps her arm around Prim’s shoulders and brings her youngest close to her side, hugging her tight and kissing her temple. She holds Prim like that because she knows if she tried that with me, she might get an eye clawed out.

“I’m not telling you anything,” I say, trying to keep my distance. She knows just how to push my buttons, she always has. It’s a challenge to keep my temper at bay around her when she’s up, and she knows it. “I don’t have to tell you shit. You don’t deserve it.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, young lady,” she says, her voice growing darker.

“ _You_ don’t talk to _me_ like that,” I snap back. “Stop acting like you’re my mom. If you want to be my mom, stop sleeping 26 hours a day and take your medicine for once.”

Mom lets go of Prim like she’s touched a hot burner and rips the apron off her neck and throws it to the floor. She stomps out of the kitchen, shoulder-checking me on the way out, and I hear the door to her room slam shut once she’s gotten far enough.

After she’s left, the pancakes on the griddle start sizzling as they burn. I rush over to them, ushering Prim out of the way, and turn the heat off.

“They burnt, they’re ruined,” Prim says, now sobbing. Fat tears are rolling down her blotchy cheeks and she throws her hands down to her sides. “You ruined them, it’s all your fault. I hate you!”

I ignore her. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, and I know that. “Okay, Prim,” I say, calmly and with a level head. Now that Mom’s out of the room, I can think clearly again. I’m still mad as hell, but my thoughts aren’t clouded with the sight of her. I can take care of Prim; I always have. I don’t get her hopes up and then crush them. I teach her about the real world and I’m the best thing she has. I keep reminding myself of this as I clean up the kitchen, stepping around my sister who has dissolved into a puddle of screams and sobs in the middle of the floor.

“Prim, come on,” I say, wiping down the counter and stepping over her yet again. I throw the soiled paper towel away and try to pick her up from the ground by her armpits, but she fights me on it and goes limp. “Okay, fine,” I say, backing off.

She eventually stands up on her own and dusts herself off, and I glance her way as I continue to clean. Without acknowledging my presence, she walks to the backyard through the screen door and I watch her as she stops at the rickety, old jungle gym and climbs it, then sits at the top of the slide with her arms crossed and chin pressed to her chest, pouting.

I shake my head and let out a long gust of air. I do everything to make the kitchen spotless again so Dad won’t have extra work to do when he gets home from his shift, and then redo the pancakes that got scorched during the fight earlier. I make a plate of three and then arrange them nicely with fruit, syrup, even whipped cream, then open the screen door with one hand as I hold the plate in the other.

I walk up to Prim through our too-long, dewy grass, and lean against the slide. “Brought you this,” I say softly, and set the plate next to her. She eyes it, but says nothing. “I didn’t think you’d eaten yet.” There’s a long silence between us that feels purposeful on her part. “I know you’re mad at me,” I say finally. “But you have to understand why Mom gets all happy like that. It’s not a normal happy. It’s part of how she’s sick. It’s not real.”

Prim lifts her eyes from the plate and casts them out towards the yard. “She’d be better if you were nicer to her,” she says, jutting out her lower lip again. “That’s what she said. And she’s right, Katniss. You’re so mean to her.”

My gut twists and I can’t bear to listen to her anymore, so I turn around and go back inside, but only to grab my coat and shoes. After zipping up, I head out towards the only place where I can be with the only person I want to see.

When I get to the bakery, I’ve cooled down considerably thanks to the long walk to get here. When Peeta sees that it’s me coming through the door, his face totally changes. His eyebrows raise and he smiles widely; he lights up in every sense of the word. “Katniss.” My heart swells just hearing my name come from his mouth.

“Hi,” I say sweetly as I walk up to the counter. He comes out from behind it, though, and wraps me up in a hug. I’m glad for it, too; without having to say it, he knows exactly what I need. “It’s good to see you,” I say, mostly into his shirt that my face is pressed up against.

“You, too,” he says, letting go. “I was hoping you’d stop in.” I nod and keep a soft grip on his arms, running my hands up and down them. “Is everything okay?” he asks, tipping his head to one side.

“Yeah,” I sigh, then shake my head. “No, actually… no, not really.”

“What?” His facial expression changes on a dime; from soft and vulnerable to defensive in milliseconds. “What happened?”

I lean against the counter and he walks back around behind it, but is still actively listening. “My mom,” I say. “She’s not taking her meds. She was on a crazy high this morning, you know, like a mania phase. And we got in a fight. I said some things I shouldn’t have.” I rethink my last statement. “Well, I mean… I meant them. But I shouldn’t have said them in front of Prim. Because now, not only do I have my mom mad at me, but Prim is, too. I don’t give a shit what my mom thinks about me, but Prim…” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I tried to make it better with her, but it didn’t work.”

Peeta reaches across the short counter and curls a stray tendril of my hair behind my ear. “She’ll come around,” he assures me. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. About your mom. I… don’t know if I could ever do that.”

“You’d learn,” I say. “My whole life I’ve just, I don’t know, gotten used to it. I know how to avoid her, basically. And I just get tired of hearing her shit, so I stand up for myself.” I shrug. “I had it down by Prim’s age, so I guess I just expect her to react the same way, and she doesn’t. And that bothers me.”

“She’s really different from you,” he says. “It’s pretty easy to see.” I give him a questioning look that prompts him to continue. “She’s just… a feeler,” he says. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“I know she is,” I say, and I really do. “I love her for that most of the time. But not now. I wish she could just see.”

“She probably will someday,” he says.

“I don’t know what to do until then,” I say, feeling deflated. “I can’t protect her from Mom if she won’t let me. If she keeps going back.”

He opens his mouth and shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I think you do a pretty good job with her, though.”

I attempt a smile. “Thanks,” I say, then change the subject. “So… last night.”

The blush that creeps onto his cheeks is near-violent. “Last night,” he repeats. “Tell me I didn’t dream that.”

“You definitely didn’t,” I say, giggling. “I was hoping I didn’t, either.” We look at each other, eyes glistening. “I was wondering if we could do it again?” I feel stupid immediately after asking, but the feeling quickly fades as his face alights with a grin.

“I was hoping you’d say something like that,” he says, and leans over the counter that holds the special pastries and treats that he makes. He takes my jaw in his hand and kisses me, petting my hair back with the other hand as he does so. I trace his knuckles with my thumbs as our lips are pressed together, and smile against his mouth as it ends.

When we pull apart, I run my tongue over the seam of my lips and can still vaguely taste him. “Wasn’t a dream,” I whisper, making heavy eye contact with him.

“Katniss, um…” he stammers, itching the side of his face and looking down at the floor instead of at me. “I, um…”

“What?” I push.

He shakes his head, running his tongue over his lips now, too. “Nothing,” he concedes. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure?” I ask, smiling.

“Yeah,” he says, looking up. He flashes me a grin and I can see that’s something is still on his mind, but I don’t pry.

“Okay…” I trail off, and then grab his hand where it rests on the counter. “Do you mind if I just sit in here and do homework for a while?” I ask.

He guffaws. “Mind?” he asks. “Of course I don’t mind. As long as you’ll let me feed you.”

I go find a table and roll my eyes at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says, then brings me a plate. “Eat up. I insist.” He leaves, then comes back with a brown paper bag. “And take this back to your sister when you leave. It might make her like you again.”

He sets the bag down and I start my homework with the cap of my pen between my teeth, staring down at calculus problems without getting very far at all. I put it off to the side after a while and pull out a worksheet for bio that’s due tomorrow, which proves to be much easier.

After an hour or so, the customer flow slows down again and Peeta is leaning on the counter, looking at me. “How’s it going?” he asks.

I sigh. “I’m avoiding calc.”

He nods knowingly. “I can call Leo again, if you want.”

“Ugh, no,” I say. “I can figure it out. I just need to look something up. Can I use your phone? Mine goes so slow.”

He obliges and tosses his phone to me, then turns around to walk into the back to replenish some supplies. His phone is already unlocked, but I spend a few confused seconds flipping the app pages trying to locate Google before I can search anything. Once I’m there, though, I click the search bar to start typing and am met with the last four things he searched. It’s impossible not to read them, my eyes go straight there out of habit, and I audibly gasp when I read the list.

‘ _How to ask somebody to be your girlfriend_ ’

‘ _pizza hut Otsego michigan_ ’

‘ _flowers for homecoming_ ’

‘ _watercolor paint sale_ ’

I’m most concerned with the top query, and after looking up to see if he’s still in the back room, I click on it. The top result is a Buzzfeed article that he’s already clicked on, and I’m tempted to click it too, but don’t get the chance. He comes back to the front of the bakery, carrying a huge sack of flour over his shoulder, smiling the whole way.

“Did it help?” he asks, totally innocent. He doesn’t know what he left up, and I don’t know whether to bring it up. Now, though, my whole body is buzzing with excitement and calculus is the last thing on my mind.

“Oh, um, not yet,” I stammer, fumbling with his big phone and dropping it with a clatter to the tabletop. “Oh, shit, sorry. I was just typing. Took me a sec to find it.”

“Oh, yeah, I have a lot of apps. Need to clear those out.”

I clumsily type in my calculus question and click on the first helpful article that comes up, then pretend to read it with heavy concentration. All I’m really doing is staring at the page and wondering to myself if I should just blurt out a huge yes now or wait until he asks me.

I decide not to say anything and finish up my work. When I’ve done the best I can, I gather my things and hand him back his phone. “I’ve done all I can,” I say. “If I get a zero, so be it. I tried.”

“You won’t get a zero,” he says, and gently grips my wrist as my hand lies on the counter. “You going home?”

I nod and lift the bag he’s sending with me. “Got this,” I say. “Hopefully it’ll win her back.”

“Do you think your mom…?”

“I won’t see Mom for another ten years now,” I say, exaggerating. “She’s gone for however long. I don’t know. I’ll talk to Dad when he gets home, that’s the best I can do. You know?” He nods silently. “See you at school,” I say, and lean across the counter for a hug. He kisses me on the cheek as we separate, and the skin on my face burns the whole way home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! So this is the last installment of NLYG that I have previously written. Now I’ll need to do some catching up in real time, which means while updates will still come, they will probably be coming slower from now on. Try and bear with me! I want to continue this story as much as you want me to, so I’ll be doing my best! Again, thank you for reading!

**KATNISS**

As I walk up to my house, I can see that Prim is in the backyard, still on the jungle gym. She has her knees drawn up to her chest with her chin rested on them, just staring ahead.

She must hear my footsteps as I get closer, because her head snaps around and we make steady eye contact.

“Hey,” I say, and lift the bag I’ve been carrying. “I got something for you.” Her interest is piqued; she shifts a bit so she can see me better. I lean on the slide so we can talk within a relatively close distance, and she keeps looking down at me. “Well, actually Peeta made it. I’m just the delivery boy.” I shake the bag in her direction. “I don’t even know what it is. I didn’t open the bag. Want it?” I set the bag down at her side and can sense her fighting the urge to open it. She must be hungry by now; she never ate the pancakes I brought earlier. A few flies have found their way over to them, though, so I shoo them away.

I sigh. “I really wish you were talking to me. Because, you know, I have some big news to tell you. And it’s not the same if you just stare at me blankly like you’re doing right now.” She continues to look at me with her jaw set; stubborn, but not as stubborn as I am. Like Peeta said, she’s softer than me.

“Also, if you don’t open that, I’m going to. And I’m gonna eat it. So, you better get to it,” I say, raising my eyebrows in the direction of the bag.

She finally takes it and pulls it open, then lifts out a big cinnamon roll. She takes a bite while keeping eye contact with me, and then her shoulders crumple a little bit. Through a mouthful of pastry, she says, “Fine. What's the big news?”

I crack a smile. “That thing’s good, isn’t it?” She nods heartily, still chewing. “He knew you’d like it.”

“Is the news about Peeta?” she asks. I nod. “Just so you know, I’m still mad,” she tells me.

“Yeah, yeah, uh-huh,” I say, giving her a sarcastic thumbs-up. “The news is that Peeta is going to ask me to be his girlfriend.”

Her blue eyes widen and her face adopts an expression that I’m more familiar with: innocent surprise. “No way,” she says. “How do you know?”

“I needed to Google something on his phone,” I tell her. “One of his last searches was ‘how to ask someone to be your girlfriend.’”

She jitters with excitement. “Katniss!”

“I know,” I say.

“But you guys haven’t even kissed yet,” she says, taking another bite.

“Well…” I trail off, and then shrug.

“You did?” Her eyes widen again.

“After the dance. It was so sweet. And…” I don’t finish my sentence; I find myself getting lost in my head over that moment all over again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.

“You and Mom were a little busy,” I say snidely. “Had no time to. I wanted to, but you switched alliances on me.” Her face falls, and I feel instantly guilty. “I don’t mean it like that. I’m just joking, Prim. You don’t have to pick sides. Let’s not bring it up again.” She nods minutely. “But yeah. Peeta kissed me, and I guess now he’s going to really ask me out.”

“You _like_ like him,” she sings. “Right?”

I can feel myself blushing and wonder if she notices. “I mean, yeah,” I say. “And it’s just like, nice that he’s going to actually ask me. Because with Gale, I don’t know, he never did.” I realize that I’m talking to her like she’s one of my friends my age, so I remind myself not to go into too much emotional detail. I don’t want to weigh her down with all of that. “I’m really happy about it.”

**PEETA**

I go through the next week obsessing over how I’m going to ask Katniss out while seemingly everyone else discusses what they’re going to be for Halloween. It’s Wednesday before I make my move, and I would have done it sooner but I kept losing my gumption. I have the perfect chance today. After I pick Katniss up from soccer practice, I have a whole plan set up.

I wait on the bleachers as usual, and she comes trotting up the stairs to meet me with her big bag slung over her shoulder. And as usual, I take it from her. I watch her eyes dart down to my lips and know full well that I had been studying hers too, so I jump at the chance to kiss her. We’ve only kissed a few other times this week, and each time I feel a different, new sense of exhilaration.

When we break apart, she’s beaming. “Hi,” she breathes.

“Hey,” I say, and wrap an arm around her shoulders as we walk to my car. “How was practice?”

“Hard,” she says, leaning into me. “Coach made us run suicides. Honestly, I almost _committed_ suicide.”

“Shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes and clicking the unlock button so my lights flash from halfway across the parking lot.

“Season’s almost over,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “My coach recommended me to some schools, even though I told him how stupid that is. Even if they do think my soccer’s good enough, no way any school is dumb enough to let me in with my grades.”

“What do you mean, your grades?” I ask, popping the trunk to toss her soccer bag in. “You have good grades.”

“Eh,” she says with a shrug, plopping in the passenger’s seat that she’s the only passenger of. “Not good enough for anyplace special.”

I scoff. “That’s doubtful.”

“You have no room to talk,” she says. “Mr. Perfect 4.0.”

“Not true whatsoever,” I say, shaking my head. My mouth starts to get dry and I twist the steering wheel in my hands, trying not to let my courage wane. “Hey, are you hungry at all?” I ask.

She laughs a little bit. “Am I hungry? I’m always hungry.”

“Do you wanna eat?” I ask. “I was thinking pizza. Just Little Caesar’s, something I can carry out and we can eat in the car.”

“Classy, as always,” she says with a nod. “Sounds good to me. Let’s do it.”

I drive to Little Caesar’s while listening to Katniss prattle on about how one of her teammates refuses to pull her weight in practice but is a total ball hog during the games, and bite the inside of my cheek the entire way. Once I pull up in the parking lot, she sighs and runs her hand through her hair that she just unspun from its braid. “God, I’ll shut up now,” she says. “Sorry for ranting.”

“I like it,” I say truthfully. “I’ll be right back.”

She turns up the dial on the radio so I can hear the bass of _Starboy_ by The Weeknd from the outside of the car, and as I walk in I make sure I can still feel the marker in my front pocket. Once I’m assured that it’s still there, I head inside and get a Hot N Ready pizza, then scribble what I’ve been planning on the inside of the box after I pay for it.

I go back outside and smile to myself as I can clearly see Katniss jamming out to what’s playing on the radio now, which I can hear is _Love on the Brain_ by Rihanna. I get in and she turns the dial down, a grin still painted on her lips. “Sorry,” she says. “Love that song.”

“It’s a good one,” I say, and set the pizza box down on my lap with jittery hands, then lift it up and set it down on her legs instead.

“Oh, hot,” she says.

“Oh, shit,” I say. “Is it too hot? I can…” My hands busy themselves around the box but don’t lift it.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she says, eyeing me strangely. “What’s got you so nervous?” She smirks; one side of her mouth pulls up higher than the other.

“I’m not nervous,” I say. “Just… you should open it. I’m hungry.”

“Oh, same,” she says, then lifts the box. My heart simultaneously clogs my throat and plummets to my feet as I watch her read what I’ve written on the top of the box.

_Katniss, I know it’_ _s_ _cheesy (again)_ _,_ _but_ _will_ _you_ _be_ _my_ _girlfriend_ _? –_ _Peeta_

Her mouth opens in a huge, wide grin, and then she covers it with both hands and lets the lid of the box gently fall to hit the dashboard. “Peeta…” she says, her voice muffled by her fingers. Her head snaps over to me, and when we lock eyes she nods wildly. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Now I’m crazily smiling, too. “Oh, thank god,” I say, feeling a million pounds’ worth of relief lift from my shoulders. I lean across the console and take her face in my hands and kiss her with all I’m worth, and she holds me just as tightly. When we break apart, we can’t stop giggling. "I didn't know if that would work again," I say. 

"Zero points for originality," she says, ribbing me. "But I'll look past it, since it's pizza. I'm never gonna complain about a proposal that involves food." We laugh again and each pick out a piece of pizza. 

We sit in the car and eat until we’re both full and the sun has started to go down. “It’s getting dark so early now,” she says, looking around and raising her eyebrows. “It’s so weird.”

“I know,” I say, unable to stop looking at her. I can’t believe that this girl sitting next to me is my girlfriend now. It doesn’t seem real.

She crosses one leg so her cleated foot is rested on her opposite knee, then looks over at me. “I knew you were staring,” she says slyly.

I immediately shift my gaze out the windshield and away from her. “Oh, sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay,” she assures me, reaching across the console to take my hand that’d been resting on my lap. “It just made it kind of hard for _me_ to stare at _you_.”

I blush violently. “God,” I mutter. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asks, grinning.

“You know,” I insist, widening my eyes. “Say stuff like that.”

“Why?” she persists, now crossing her right leg over her left so her body is faced more towards me. She pulls her hand away from mine and then touches my cheek with the pad of her pointer finger. “Because it makes you blush?”

“You’re trying to kill me,” I say, and turn my face towards my window.

She laughs and takes my chin in her hand, turning my face back. She pushes herself up out of her seat a bit and pecks me on the lips, dragging her hand down my cheek as she does so.

After glancing at the clock radio, she says, “I don’t want to go, but I have to.” She sits back in her seat. “Take me home? If I’m not there soon, Prim’s gonna call 911 or something.” She lets out a breathy chuckle that tells me she’s not kidding.

As I back out of the parking lot, I ask, “How did she get home tonight anyway?”

“Gale dropped her off,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Gave me a hard time about it at first, but at least he did it. It’s getting too cold for her to hang around and wait for me. I need to get Dad to get her on the bus route.” She nods to herself. “I have to remember to talk to him about that.”

When I pull up to her house, I see that almost every light in the house is on. I glance over at Katniss and she that she has her eyebrows raised, probably wondering about the lights, too. As I’m looking at her, she looks at me and her dubious expression changes to surprised bashfulness with pink cheeks and everything.

“Thanks for today,” she says quietly, leaning towards me. I nod, and see movement out of the corner of my eye. I follow it and see that the curtains of their front window have been pushed to the side and Prim is standing halfway in the window, looking out and watching us.

“We have an audience,” I say, tipping my head towards her house.

She follows my eyes. “Oh, god,” she says. “She’s gonna ask for every single detail.” She plants one hand on my shoulder as she kisses me goodbye. “Might as well get in there and start spilling. I’ll text you.”

“Bye, Katniss,” I say, and stay parked in the driveway until she’s safely in the house. As she opens the front door, Prim jets away from the window and meets her, then stands in the doorway to wave at me as I back out. I wave back, and then drive down the street to my own house.

I walk in and can hear the TV as I kick off my shoes. When I walk past the living room, I see my mom and dad sitting on the couch and chair, respectively, watching some sort of game show. “You’re home late,” Dad notices, turning his head to look at me. Mom keeps her gaze on the screen.

“Yeah,” I acknowledge, placing my hand on the stair railing as I start to ascend.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks.

“Um, just out,” I say, shrugging, stopped in my tracks.

Now Mom turns her head. “That’s vague. You had to be doing something,” she says. “Sneaking around somewhere?”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” I say. “I was with Katniss.”

Dad nods, but dropping her name just makes Mom more confused. “Who’s that?”

“His girl,” Dad says, raising his eyebrows.

Mom looks at me with wide eyes. “Your _girl_?”

“I…” My weight shifts as I stand in the same spot for longer than anticipated. “Yeah, she is.”

“You have a girlfriend.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but still sounds completely incredulous at the same time.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“When do we get to meet the lucky lady?” Dad asks, making my gut twist.

“I have no idea,” I say. “I mean, it’s still really new… I don’t know. It depends.”

“This is the singer girl, right?” he says.

“Yes,” I say, hearing my tone change. I don’t want to talk about this with them. I want to go up to my room and relive everything that just happened today, not suffer the third-degree burns that I’m getting from my mom’s eyes on me.

“We’re gonna need to meet her soon,” Mom says. “If your taste in girls is anything like your taste in anything else, we’re gonna have problems.”

“Mom…” I say, frustrated. “She’s not…she’s not like that. She’s nice. Can I go now?” I ask.

“Don’t you want some dinner?” Dad asks.

I shake my head. “I already ate.”

“He already ate, after I made enough for three.” Mom shakes her head. “You could’ve called and told me. Picked up that damn nice phone we bought you and put it to some use.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, one foot up on the second step now.

“No, it’s okay, you have bigger things to worry about now, right?” she says scathingly. “Your girlfriend and all.”

I chew the inside of my cheek and don’t know how to respond. Mom finally turns back around to the TV and Dad gives me a small wave, so I take that as enough to get out of here. I hurry upstairs, shut myself in my room and collapse on my bed, and let the smile return that had been plastered on my face in the car.

 

The next day at lunch, Katniss is sitting at the table before I get there.

“Hi,” she says excitedly, as I sit down. She holds one of my hands where it sits on the seat between our hips and keeps it. It makes eating a little difficult, but it’s a hardship I’ll gladly endure. “So, listen to this. I was just talking to Madge, and she heard that Clove is throwing her annual Halloween party this year.” I look at her confusedly, unable to match her excitement. “Oh, right, you don’t know,” she says. “Clove is this girl in our grade. She couldn’t throw her party last year because she got into some trouble with, like, sexting and stuff. So her parents sent her to a private Catholic school for a year. But she’s back now. And she’s gonna throw it. I went my freshman and sophomore years, even though it’s pretty much only for upperclassmen. It was really fun. And I know it’ll be even better now.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I have you,” she says. “Do you want to go with me?”

The key words in her sentence: _with me_. She’s not just inviting me along to the party, this is the first thing that we’ll do as a couple. The fact isn’t lost on me, but still the idea of a party as big as this one sounds is daunting. At my old school, that was never my scene. “I don’t know,” I say unsurely.

“You don’t have to,” she says, stroking my knuckles with her thumb. “If you don’t wanna go, we won’t go. We can do something else. I just wanted to ask.”

I study her face, seeing the excitement from a few seconds ago disguise itself as acceptance. I can’t bear to take it away from her, so I decide to step out of my comfort zone. “No, no, I’ll go,” I say, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

“Really?” she asks, perking up again.

“Sure,” I say. “Why not?”

“Oh, good,” she says, sneaking a kiss on my cheek. “It’s this weekend, on Saturday.”

We talk about what ideas we have for costumes, and she tells me that she’s already decided to be a flapper. “I know it’s cliché and dumb,” she says. “Believe me. But I like Daisy Gatsby, so sue me.”

I giggle. “I’m not judging,” I say. “It’s better than a nurse or a cop.”

She raises her lip in disgust. “Oh, ew. But what do you bet we’ll see like, a million of those at the party?”

I nod. “Definitely.”

I can’t think of something to be yet, but I’m sure something will come to mind before Saturday. 

**KATNISS**

After school on Friday, I’m walking to meet Peeta when Madge and Jo intercept me. “Katniss,” Madge calls out, sounding excited. They catch up to me and I stop walking, and we lean against the wall near the front doors of the school. “Finally.”

I give her a confused look. “We’ve hardly seen you all week,” Jo clarifies. “Been with your man. It’s almost like we don’t exist anymore…”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. That’s not true.”

Madge giggles. “It’s kinda true.”

“Are you going to Clove’s party tomorrow?” Jo asks. “I was gonna ask you earlier in the week, but I never got a chance.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I am going.”

“As what?” Madge asks.

“With who?” Jo asks. “Peeta, right?” Her face turns sour. “I mean, obviously…since you haven’t brought it up to us.”

“I mean, you guys will be there…” I say, clasping my hands together. “It’s not like I won’t see you.”

“It’s okay, Katniss,” Madge says. “We pretty much knew that already." 

“I mean, I was kind of hoping you’d let us know sooner so we or sure wouldn’t have to worry about picking a three-way costume,” Jo grumbles.

“Well, we didn’t,” Madge says.

“Nothing could beat our _Mean Girls_ tribute last year,” Jo says. “But I was still trying to think of something the three of us could be.”

“Me and you are already being _The Shining_ twins,” Madge says, looking at Jo confusedly. “I told you Katniss was going to go with Peeta.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Don’t worry about including me. I’m gonna be a flapper.”

Jo nods, but doesn’t look happy. “Even though we go together every year.”

“What is going on?” I ask, trying to lay everything out on the table. “You were never this mad when I dated Gale. What is it about Peeta that makes you so jealous?”

She looks at me defensively. “I’m not jealous,” she says.

“You seem like it,” I say.

“Well, I’m not.”

Madge sighs. “She just misses you, Katniss. We both do. You’re with Peeta a lot, and when you’re not with him, you’re taking care of Prim. Which I get, but still.” She touches my shoulder. “We’re best friends. We just miss having you around.”

“You give a shit about this guy,” Jo says. “I can tell. And I think that’s great. But when you were with Gale, I don’t know, I don’t really think you gave a shit, so you were with us way more.” I giggle. “What? It’s true.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Madge asks, eyes glinting.

I blush. “Yeah,” I admit.

“Knew it,” Jo says.

There’s a moment of silence between us, and then Jo speaks up again. “We were about to go to the mall to find some last-minute costume things. Do you want to come with?” She pauses for a minute before saying, “You better not already have plans.”

I glance behind me and see Peeta sauntering toward us, fixing his backpack straps. He waves when we lock eyes, and I wiggle my fingers back at him. “I’ll go,” I say. “Just…give me a minute.” I trot away from them and meet up with him halfway, and hold onto either of his arms. “I’m gonna go to the mall with Madge and Jo,” I tell him, and skim my hands down his arms to hold onto his fingers. “I know we were supposed to ride home-”

“It’s okay,” he says lightly. “Go. I’ll be fine riding by myself this one day.” He rolls his eyes at himself. “I finally won’t have to share the snacks.”

“Whatever,” I say. “Save some for me. Maybe you can come over later.”

“Okay,” he says, and lands a kiss on my cheek. After he pulls away, I take his face in my hands and plant a kiss on his lips, and when I look at him again his cheeks are a brilliant red.

“I’ll text you,” I say, and then wave at him before heading back to the girls.

“Jesus, get a room,” Jo murmurs, and bumps me with her shoulder as we head out the doors to Madge’s car.

When we get to the mall, we ride the escalator upstairs and I’m headed towards the costume store, but Jo gets distracted by the enticing Victoria’s Secret store instead. “Come on guys,” she insists, pausing in front of it. “Let’s go in.”

“Jo…” I groan, and drag my feet.

“I just want to look!” she promises, and pulls us both inside by our arms. She scurries ahead and Madge gets caught talking to a salesgirl, so I find something to occupy myself while they both take their time. I stop at the big, rectangular table that’s covered with folded underwear, and spend time holding up various pairs that look barely like scraps of fabric, let alone anything that would sufficiently cover anything on my body.

As I’m widening my eyes at an unbearably tiny thong, I hear a voice behind me. “We actually have a sale going on right now, 5 for $27.50, if you’re interested.” I turn around and see a smiling, eager-looking salesgirl. “What size are you?”

“Oh, god, I don’t know,” I say, and drop the underwear. “I was just-”

“A small,” I hear Jo say, appearing out of nowhere.

“Jo, no,” I hiss, gritting my teeth. “I don’t need…”

“Come on, Katniss, just one,” Madge says, appearing alongside us.

Jo wiggles her eyebrows. “You might want them.”

I turn my back on the girl helping us, but she stays put. “What do you mean?” I ask, knitting my eyebrows together.

“You…and Peeta…” Jo sings, and Madge giggles, which only encourages her. “I’ve seen your underwear before and they’re pathetic. So boring. You get them in packs from Wal-Mart and share them with your sister.”

“I do not,” I say under my breath.

“Basically,” Jo say. “You need _one_ pair. One. One that you can feel good in, and that you’re going to want him to see.”

I widen my eyes and glance between them. “Why are you talking like I’m going to be sleeping with him _tomorrow_?”

“You can’t plan these things,” Madge says. “You never know.”

“I do know,” I say. “And it’s not going to be anytime soon.”

“So save them,” Jo says, and catches the attention of the girl again. “She just needs one. One pair that her boyfriend will really like. What do you think?”

I’m about to drown in my own shame. I’m glad the lighting in here is dim, or else they’d all see how red my face has turned.

“Oh, I have the perfect pair,” she says, wiggling her fingers over the folded piles. “Here. Take a look at these.” She holds them up. “You seem like a pretty modest girl, and this is a mix between safe and sexy.” It’s not a thong, but they still don’t look like they’d cover that much of my butt. They’re pink and sparkly with a white lace waistband, and I know I’d never buy them if not for these three pressuring me.

“I don’t know…” I say.

“She’ll take them,” Jo says, and snatches them from the girl. “Thank you so much.” Before I can say anything in protest, she hurries to the checkout counter and buys them for me, then shoves the tissue paper-filled bag at me once she’s paid. “Enjoy,” she says saucily.

 

When I get home later in the evening, I exchange a few texts with Peeta telling him to come over whenever he wants so we can watch a movie. My dad is working third shift and Prim is at a friend’s house for a sleepover tonight, and my mom is locked up in her room as usual. The house is quiet, and having him here will definitely make it feel less creepy.

While I wait for Peeta to get here, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the tiny, pink Victoria’s Secret bag that I threw on the chair in the corner. After looking out the window to make sure he’s not pulling up, I walk over to the bag and pull the underwear out. I hold them up, shaking my head and how tiny they seem, and then rip the tag off. Feeling paranoid, I pull my curtains closed and then take my leggings off, then replace the underwear I was wearing with the brand new ones I just got.

They’re more comfortable than I imagined they would be, which is nice. I’m nervous to look at myself in the mirror, I’ve never worn something like this before, but I make myself. I stand in front of it and graze my eyes up my body until I can take it all in. They don’t look bad, not at all. They’re actually pretty cute. They’re really low-rise, not comfortable to wear under jeans, but I’d be lying to myself if I said that these weren’t something I would want Peeta to see someday.

I do a spin and look at my butt in them and am pleasantly surprised. Just enough is peeking out where the fabric ends, and that fact makes me look curvier than I actually am. I can’t help it; I smile at my reflection after giving myself another once-over. Wearing these makes me feel good, so I keep them on while I clean some stuff up from my bedroom floor and tidy up my dressers.

While I’m lost in my own world, I vaguely hear a knock on the door from all the way downstairs. My heart drops to my feet and all the blood rushes to my face, and I immediately freeze up.

“Hold on a sec!” I shout down, after cracking my door open. I shuck the underwear off and fumble for a clean pair of leggings, which I yank on haphazardly because of the hurry I’m in. “Coming, coming.”

I get to the bottom of the stairs probably looking discombobulated, but when I open the front door Peeta is smiling all the same. “Hey,” he says, and I open the door wider so he can step in. “What took you?”

“Was finishing up something,” I say, and suddenly realize that I left the underwear lying in the middle of my floor. My stomach is still jumping, and remembering that only makes it worse. “Um, so…what movie were you thinking?”

He starts in on a long tangent, but it’s hard for me to listen because those little panties are all that I can think of. When he’s done talking and I didn’t hear so much as a single thing he said, I say, “Okay, so let’s go up to my room. I have some DVDs up there. I just…” I position myself in front of him on the stairs so I’ll get through the door first. “Come with me.”

“I’ve been here before, you remember that, right?” he asks, a joking tone in his voice.

I struggle to laugh. I push open the door to my room and hurry to pick up the underwear before he can see them, then shove them into my top drawer and slam it shut. Crisis averted.

“What’s going on with you?” he asks. “Did I come at a bad time, or…?”

“No, no,” I say, finally feeling more relaxed. “It’s fine. You’re perfectly fine. I’m okay. Just, you know…” I flop down on my bed and leave my legs hanging off the side. “Just ready to relax and watch a movie.”

He sits down next to me. “Same here. Been a long week.”

“For sure.”

He runs his fingers tentatively through my hair and I close my eyes from his touch. I can feel that my t-shirt has ridden up a little bit from my pants, but I don’t bother with adjusting it. I feel comfortable around him.

“Do you know what you’re going to be for the party yet?” I ask, opening my eyes to look up at him. He’s been studying me while my eyes were closed, but now he darts his gaze away from my face.

“I think so,” he says. “I think I’m gonna be Waldo. You know, like, Where’s Waldo?” I giggle and lightly roll my eyes. “Geeky, I know. But it was a simple find; I just had to get the striped sweater and some glasses.”

“I can’t wait to see you in those glasses,” I say, laughing.

“Yeah, I look really great,” he scoffs, and shakes his head at himself.

“I’m sure you do,” I say, then sit up. “Do you wanna pick a movie?”

We end up watching all of _Radio_ , and I get sleepy once it nears the end. I can feel my eyes threatening to close, and my head falls to rest on Peeta’s shoulder once I can’t keep it upright anymore.

When I hear the credits rolling in my subconscious, I lift my head and blink my eyes to reorient myself. “Oh god,” I say, pointing my toes in a big stretch. “I fell asleep.”

“Yeah, you did,” Peeta says, chuckling. “It’s okay, though. It’s kinda late.”

I look at his eyes for a moment and then divert my attention to the placement of our bodies on my small bed. It’s only twin-sized, so there isn’t much room for us to stretch out, and no matter what way we turn our bodies would be touching somehow. With the way we’re sitting now, our hips are pressed tight up against each other with his left arm wrapped around my shoulders to keep me close. One of my feet is resting between both of his, which has intertwined our ankles, and I feel a swell of something I can’t name rush up my body when he takes one of my hands in his own.

I look up at him and with our close proximity, our noses are only inches apart. I lean closer and kiss him, resting one of my hands flat on his chest as I do so. My heart is beating so hard that it feels like it might burst through my chest, and with my luck he can probably feel it, too. His lips are soft and plush; pliant against mine when I press into him. His hand that had been holding mine swipes some hair away from my face as we still kiss, and then maps out over my neck. His thumb rests over my pulse point, and his fingers on the base of my skull.

He never touches lower than my shoulders, and that doesn’t go unnoticed by me. It’s obvious that we’re going by my pace, and I’m perfectly okay with that. That’s something that I never had with Gale; everything was always about what he wanted. Now, it’s exactly the opposite.

I move my lips away from his mouth and redirect them to his jaw, then to the space between his earlobe and neck, and then his throat. He makes a soft sound, and I can feel the buzz from it hit my lips, and it makes me smile.

Just seconds later after I’ve buried my hands in his thick, blonde hair, my phone rings on the nightstand behind me. It makes us both jump and pull away from each other like we’ve been caught doing something wrong, and I notice that I’m not the only one breathing heavily.

“Hold on,” I say, holding up a finger absentmindedly. “Hello?”

“Hi.” I hear Prim’s small voice on the other line, sounding sleepy and young.

“Hey, Prim. What’s up?” I ask, sitting up fully and trying to smooth down my hair. I straighten my clothes and can feel my eyebrows furrowing, wondering what she could be calling for.

“Can you come get me?” she asks. “I wanna come home.”

“I, um…” I look back at Peeta, who must be able to hear her voice through the phone, because he nods. “Sure. I’ll be there soon.” I hang up the phone and pull on a hoodie from the floor, then stand up from the bed. “You don’t mind driving me?” I ask. “I have no idea why she wants to come back.”

“It’s totally fine,” he says, now standing too. “She needs you, and I can help. So why wouldn’t I?” He smiles at me and then follows me out of my room.

In his car, I reach for his hand over the console and we keep our fingers laced together while he drives. It’s not far to Prim’s friend’s house, and when we pull up in the driveway I can see her silhouette standing in the window, already waiting.

I get to the front door and once it’s opened, I’m met with the weight of my sister against me. She wraps her arms tight around my waist and I touch the back of her head while talking to her friend’s mother. “Is everything alright?” I ask.

She nods. “Everything’s fine. Prim just got a little homesick.”

I look down at my sister and she tips her chin up to look back at me. “I wanted you,” she peeps.

“Okay,” I say, and pet her hair. “We’ll go home.” I thank the woman and then keep my arm around Prim as I lead her to Peeta’s car.

“Peeta’s here?” she asks, her eyes lighting up as she opens the back door of the car.

“Hey, Prim,” he says, looking back in the rearview mirror.

“Hi!”

“Was the party lame?” he asks, waiting to back out until she buckles up. Once she does, he reverses out of the driveway with expert ease.

“Yeah,” she says, a bit shy now.

“She probably heard that we were hanging out, then got jealous and wanted to join us,” I say, turning around and smiling at her to let her know I’m joking.

“No…” she says, but smirks.

“Right to bed when we get home,” I say. “It’s late.”

“Is Peeta sleeping over?” she asks hopefully.

He and I exchange a knowing, if not a bit bashful, glance. “No, I uh, I have to get home,” he says. “Thanks for the invite, though.”

He pulls back up into our driveway, and I wait until Prim has gathered all of her stuff and is in the house before leaning down through his rolled-down window to kiss him. “You’re picking me up for the party tomorrow, right?” I ask.

He nods. “I’ll be here at 7. Be ready, flapper.”

I snort. “Hopefully I can find you, Waldo.”

“Dumb,” he says. “Didn’t even try.”

“Shut up,” I say, and rest my arms on the top of his car as I keep my head level with his. I glance toward my house, where I can see Prim peeking out of the curtains in the living room to spy on us. “I better go,” I say, and kiss him again.

When I get inside, she storms me before I can even take off my shoes. “You were kissing Peeta,” she says excitedly.

“Yeah,” I say, and pull off my hoodie to hang it over a hook. “And?”

She shrugs, but is almost buzzing with excitement. I watch her for a second, and then roll my eyes and laugh at her. “Shut up, Prim,” I say.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, in a singsong tone.

“It’s bedtime,” I say, and push her in the direction of the stairs. “Up. Up. Time to go to sleep.”

**PEETA**

Getting ready for the party is easy. All I have to do is throw on a pair of jeans, my red-and-white striped sweater that I bought from Target, nerdy-looking glasses, and a Waldo-like hat. I look in the mirror once I’m all dressed and raise my eyebrows at myself. I could’ve picked something less lame, that’s for sure, but I’m stuck with this now.

When Katniss comes out of her house, I can’t take my eyes off of her. She has on a short, black dress with fringe hanging off of it, fishnet stockings, black pumps, and a feathery headpiece to top it all off with. She’s wearing red lipstick and a lot of bronzer, which makes her gray eyes stand out even more than usual.

Instead of walking to the passenger’s side like usual, she comes to my side and gestures for me to roll down the window. “Hey,” she says, and I can hear annoyance in her voice. Suddenly I’m suddenly nervous that she’s going to cancel our plans and that, even more, all of this was a huge joke and she never planned on going with me in the first place.

“What’s up?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”

“I…” She sighs, popping her weight to one side and glancing back towards her front door, where I now see that Prim is waiting. “I hate to ask you this. But I just found out, and…” She throws her hands up. “I don’t really have a choice, I guess. My dad just sprung this on me. I have to take her trick-or-treating. It shouldn’t take that long. Do you want to come with us? You don’t have to. You can wait inside, if you want, until we’re finished. I just had no idea I’d have to take her, my dad just left for work and like, I get it, but he never tells me anything ahead of time and I had no time to plan, and-”

“Katniss,” I say calmly, cutting her off. “It’s totally fine.” I turn the car off and glance at Prim, and see that a huge smile has made its way to her face. “I’m cool with going with you guys. I miss trick-or-treating anyway.” I get out of the car and call out to Prim, “Hey, where’s my candy bag?”

She dissolves into a fit of giggles and beside me, Katniss’s relief is almost palpable. “You’re too big to trick-or-treat!” Prim tells me. She’s dressed up like Little Red Riding hood, complete with a cape that flounces around when she jumps. The costume looks homemade, which I’m guessing is Katniss’s doing.

“Way to crush my dreams,” I say, pretending to sock her on the shoulder. She just laughs and looks to Katniss for validation, which she gets in the form of a forced-looking grin.

“Well, come on then. Let’s get going,” Katniss says. “I don’t want you out past dark.”

“Why?” Prim asks, as we walk down the driveway.

Katniss wraps one arm around her sister’s shoulders. “It’s not safe,” she says.

“What’s not safe?”

“Prim,” Katniss warns. “Go up to that house. Their light’s on, ring the bell.” We wait at the end of a yard as Prim bounces up to the first house. Her voice saying ‘trick or treat!’ can be faintly heard from where we stand, and we watch the older couple hand her a few treats. “Thanks for coming and not making a big deal out of it or anything,” she says to me as Prim surveys what candy she got.

“Why would I make a big deal?” I ask, as Prim runs up the path to the next house.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Gale would’ve.”

“Oh,” I say. “Him. Well…”

“I know, I know, you’re not him.” She scoffs. “Not in a million years.” She stands on her tiptoes and gives me a chaste kiss, which makes my heart start pounding.

“Plus, I know the feeling,” I say. “My older brothers got tired of taking me when I was around ten. After that, Halloween was always pretty boring. So I’m glad to make it fun for her.”

“She’s definitely having the time of her life,” Katniss says, linking her arm with mine as we walk behind Prim on the street one over from ours. “She couldn’t give a shit that I’m here. She’s just happy that you came.”

“Oh, I know,” I say, and she bumps me with her shoulder.

After we walk around half our neighborhood, Prim starts lagging and becoming more interested in looking in her candy bag than finding more houses to walk up to. Katniss directs our route back home, and I wait in the car while she walks Prim inside and gets her set up for the night.

Once she comes back outside, I can see the TV playing _Hocus Pocus_ on their small-screen TV. “Mom’s home and everything, but…” She cranes her neck to get a last look at her sister. “I don’t know. Should I feel bad?”

“Do you want to stay?” I ask.

“No, not really,” she says. “I’m excited for this party.” She’s quiet for a moment, and then Prim walks up to the window and blows out a kiss. I watch Katniss return it, and then wave and smile at her little sister. “Okay, she’ll be okay. We won’t be that late. I told her that.” She turns to me now. “Let’s go.”


	9. Chapter 9

**KATNISS**

I’m buzzing with excitement as I sit in the passenger’s seat of Peeta’s car. With one hand on the armrest, I watch all the trick-or-treaters head in for the night, and hope that the party will go well.

“Did you ever go to parties at your old school?” I ask, turning towards him. The feathery headpiece I’m wearing gets in my eye, so I blow it out of the way and laugh at myself. My chest is light and I feel freer than I have in months. When I’m around Peeta, I’m not my mother’s caretaker or Prim’s protector. I’m me, just Katniss. And he doesn’t make me feel like I have to be anything else. 

“No,” he says, moving his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“Really?” I ask, eyebrows raised. “Not your thing? Like I said, if you’re not comfortable, we don’t-” 

“Would you shush?” he says, good-naturedly. “I wanna go. I wanna be here with you.” He looks over at me warmly, which makes my body flood with feeling. “I was just… I don’t know, never invited.” 

I crinkle my forehead. “Never invited? Why?”

He shrugs. “If you haven’t noticed, people don’t really take a liking to me.” 

“Well, they’re all idiots,” I say indignantly. “I like you.” 

I feel his eyes on me, but I stay staring out the front windshield. “I like you, too,” he says, reaching over to gently touch my thigh. My skin feels electric underneath his fingers, and suddenly I hope our car ride lasts much longer. I don’t want that feeling to go away. 

I overlap his hand with mine and dart my eyes over to gauge his reaction. If he’s as nervous as I am, it doesn’t show. He’s way too good at keeping his cool. 

When we pull up to the curb in front of Clove’s house, the place is lit up and already full of people. Peeta parks and stares at the crowd, and I squeeze his hand. 

“They’re all just a bunch of idiots,” I say. “Madge and Jo are in there. I know they wanna hang with us. And usually, there are some pretty fun games set up in the backyard.” 

“Alright,” he says, and locks up the car before joining me on the way inside. 

Once we make it through the door, I see a ton of familiar faces. People I don’t normally socialize with come up and say hi, most likely because they’re drunk. 

“Are you supposed to be a stripper?” this girl named Layla asks me, words slurring. 

I squint at her. “I’m a flapper, obviously,” I say, then point to the feather on my head. “Hello?”

I roll my eyes and keep Peeta’s arm as we make our way through the living room. As we pass the kitchen, I see Clove inside with the keg as she tries to work it.

“Hey, Katniss!” she says enthusiastically. She’s dressed as a sexy cop, black makeup applied way too heavily. Her skirt is so short that if she bends over in the slightest, her entire ass will be out. It’s a lot. 

“Hey, Clove,” I say, waving. 

“I’m so glad you came,” she says. “Our last year to do this. Whoo!” 

I humor her with a smile. “Thanks for the invite,” I say. “This is my boyfriend, Peeta.” 

_ Boyfriend. Peeta. _

The words roll off my tongue; sweet and warm like honey. It was so easy to say. It feels natural, like I’ve been saying it forever. 

Something in Clove’s eyes flashes when she looks at him. “I’ve seen you around,” he says, still yanking something on the keg. “Thanks for coming. Hey. Can you work this? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing and the football team wants the keg outside.” 

Peeta looks at me with a clueless expression. “I barely even know what that is,” he says, chuckling at himself. 

“I got it,” I say, walking over. I move around some levers and get it to work, then look over at him. “Okay,” I say. “I might be the brains of this operation, but there’s no way I can lift this.” 

He laughs and hauls it outside with my help directing, then sets it down. A bunch of guys cheer and holler, and a few of them even pound him on the back. 

“New kid making himself useful,” Brutus says. He’s one of Gale’s close friends, who used to hang out with us when we’d go out for pizza after games. 

“Uh, thanks,” Peeta says uncomfortably. 

“Stronger than he looks,” another one says. I don’t bother turning my head to see who it is. I can practically feel the awkwardness wafting off of Peeta, so I want to get us out of here. 

“Alright, there’s your keg!” I say, pulling Peeta away by the wrist. 

“Aw, Everdeen,” a male voice says. I look over my shoulder to see that it’s Cato, of all people. “You’re not gonna let your little boy-toy play with us? You’re keeping him all to yourself. That’s not very nice.” 

I roll my eyes. “Leave us alone, Cato,” I say, and we disappear back into the house before he can say anything else. “I fucking hate him,” I say under my breath as we collapse on the couch. I look at Peeta and try to judge what he’s feeling, because he hasn’t said anything for a while. “You okay?” I ask. 

His attention flicks to me. “What? Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine. It’s just, it’s a lot of people. You know.” 

“Right,” I say. 

“Hey, Everdeen,” I hear, and look over the back of the couch to see Marvel passing by in a basketball jersey. “Nice costume. You look hot.” 

Peeta tenses. I adjust the way I’m sitting so my legs rest on his lap, and he holds onto my shins. 

“Oh, so you two are a thing now?” Marvel chides. “Good costume, pussy boy. Where’s Waldo. More like, where’s your dick?” 

He laughs at his own joke. I come back with, “Why are you so hung up on finding his dick?” He stops laughing. “If you wanna fuck him so bad, Marvel, just say so. Get it off your stupid, scrawny chest. But if you’re not gonna do that, go find a broom closet and dry hump Cato like usual.” 

He cringes, sputtering to find something to say. “Yeah, good one,” he mutters. 

“Fuck off,” I say to the back of his head as he walks away. I look at Peeta, feeling guilty. “I promise the whole party won’t be like this,” I say. “It’s just… the shitheads are here. But they’ll lose interest. I think they already did.” I sigh. “I’m sorry.” 

A smile graces Peeta’s lips for the first time since we arrived. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.” 

“Yeah, but I feel like I do,” I say. “I didn’t bring you here so you could get shit on by those inbreds.” 

He snorts and I smile because of it. I love making him laugh. 

“Hey, guys!” we hear, and look over to see Madge and Jo dressed as the twins from  _ The Shining _ . They actually look pretty good. “We’ve been looking for you.” 

They plop down on far end of the couch and I take my legs off of Peeta’s lap. “You guys look good,” I say. “Scary.” 

“That’s what Jo’s mom said,” Madge says. 

“Yeah,” Jo says. “As if Madge would even know. She’s never seen the movie.” 

We laugh and Madge pretends to pout. “Well, you guys look good too. Peeta, I love your Waldo.” 

He smiles modestly. “Thanks.” 

“And you,” Jo says, eyeing me. “A little risque, don’t you think?” 

“All for her man,” Madge says, wiggling her shoulders. “First the underw-” 

“No,” I say, eyes wide and jaw clenched. “Shut up. Shut. Up.” 

The two of them burst into giggles and Peeta looks at me with confusion. “What?” he says. 

“Nothing,” I say, trying to be nonchalant. The last thing I want is for him to know about those stupid underwear they cajoled me into buying at Victoria’s Secret. It’s not as if I haven’t thought about him seeing me in them, but I’m just not ready for him to know. What if he got freaked out and thought I was going way too fast? I don’t want to put him on the spot. That’d be horrible. 

“Yeah, nothing,” Jo says, laughing. 

“Really,” I say, deadpan. “Honestly, stop.” 

“Okay, okay,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Don’t have to get all sister mama on me. We get it, you don’t want us to embarrass you in front of Peeta.”

“Oh, my god,” I say, and drop my face into my hands.

I feel Peeta laugh more than I see it. “I didn’t know you could turn so pink,” he says. 

“You’re encouraging them,” I mutter. 

He looks over to my friends conspiratorially and they laugh together at my expense. I watch them, thinking that usually I’d be annoyed at my being the butt of the joke, but it’s not too bad. I like watching them interact positively. It’s like two important parts of my life are converging fluidly. 

“I’m getting away from all of you since I can’t seem to catch a break,” I say, pretending to be more mad than I am. “I’m getting a drink. Anybody want something?”

“Wine cooler,” Madge pipes up. 

“I’ll take a beer,” Jo says. “But not if it’s Bud Light. Fuck that. If that’s the only option, I don’t know. Piss water from the toilet.” 

“You disgust me,” I say. “You really do.” I look at Peeta, who’s very amused. I nudge his knee with my own. “What about you?” I ask, in a softer tone. 

“Um,” he says, eyes traveling up my body until they meet mine. “Pepsi.” 

“Not drinking?” Jo asks. “Law-abiding citizen, right here.” 

“I’m DD,” Peeta says. 

“Oh,” Jo says, drawing out the word. “Well, we walked here. So worst that could happen is we fall asleep in front of the Dollar General on the way home.”

“You say as if you haven’t before,” I say, grinning over my shoulder as I head to the backyard where the cooler is. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jo calls after me, and I hear them dissolve into laughter once again.

When I push open the screen door and head outside, I’m met with a gust of cool air and raucous laughter. I can’t resist scoffing at the sound, because it’s all coming from the football team who are trying to get as drunk as they possibly can to outdo each other. They do it every year. When I was dating Gale, I’d have to get way too up close and personal with their idiocy, so I’m glad I can be away from it now. 

“Everdeen!” someone shouts from their crowd. I groan inwardly and turn around, seeing that it’s one of Gale’s close friends, Ethan. “Come have a beer!” 

Everyone knows I can drink them under the table. I’d showcase that once in a great while, but I’m definitely not going to do it now. 

“Sorry,” I say, holding up the drinks I’m supposed to be bringing inside. 

“Buzzkill,” one of them shouts. “At least get your ass over here, you didn’t even say hi.” 

“Hi,” I say, my voice high and fake. “I’m leaving now.” 

“Gotta get back to her girlfriend,” Cato says, laughing loudly and obnoxiously. “I swear, her new man is such a pussy. She has to stand up for him all the fucking time. It’s so fucking sad.” 

I clench my hands around the necks of the wine coolers I have. “Cato, shut your ugly mouth before I shut it for you,” I say, teeth gritted together. 

“Wait, wait, wait, hold up,” I hear, then see Gale come out of the crowd. Now, the whole team’s attention is on me and I hate it. “You’re dating that pussy-ass Mellark dude?” He laughs, looking around at his teammates for support and they all give it to him. 

“For your information, yes I am,” I say, popping my hip to one side. “And don’t call him that. His name is Peeta.” 

“What’d I tell you,” Cato says. “Sticking up for him. He can never do it himself.” 

“Do you see him around, dumbass?” I spit. “How the fuck do you expect him to stand up for himself when he’s not even here? And another thing, I wouldn’t have to stick up for him if you’d lay off him once in awhile.” I shake my head vehemently and turn around as they all break out in a chorus of ‘oooohs.’ “Shut up!” I shout. 

“Shut up!” they mimic. 

I mutter under my breath about how stupid they are, but feel a presence behind me as I walk back inside. I know who it is, so I do my best in ignoring it. 

“Here you go, guys,” I say, handing out the drinks. 

“Uh, you okay?” Madge asks, giving me a look as she takes her wine cooler. “You look pissed.” 

I feel Peeta touch my wrist, and when I look at him my eyes soften. “You good?” he asks, then his eyes dart behind me and change their expression. 

I turn around, too. I see Gale standing there, looking hulking as ever, wearing his football jersey as a costume. 

“So, it is true,” he says, and I can hear that he’s drunk. Past the point of tipsy, too. Past the point where he should be talking to us. He reeks of alcohol, and he’s not even standing that close. “You guys are together.”

I lean against the back of the couch and feel the silence as the three people with me watch our every move. I don’t blame them; I would be, too. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. 

“Yep,” I say tersely.

Gale breaks out in brash laughter. “Leaving me, for him,” he says, mouth wide open. “That’s a fucking riot.”

He stops laughing as quickly as he started, then takes a step closer to me. 

“Catnip,” he says, voice softer. I flinch away, angling my neck as far from him as it’ll go. “We could try again. You know how it was, baby… we were us. We were magnetic. We were it… everyone knew it.” 

“Fuck off,” I say, feeling my chest grow tight and my face heat up. If he takes one step closer, I’ll punch him. I don’t have enough self-control not to do it. 

“You don’t mean it,” he says, voice smooth and slippery. 

“I said fuck off, Gale,” I say, and turn away. I see that Peeta’s stood up and is coming around the couch, his fists bunched but eyes looking uncertain. I don’t want him to do something stupid; Gale has at least six inches on him. If a fight broke out between the two of them, it’d be a mess. I’m not sure who’d come out looking worse. 

“I won’t pressure you anymore,” Gale continues, obviously not put off. “We don’t have to fuck. We can just, you know… be together. Isn’t that what you always said you wanted? You know? Just to be together without fucking?” He chuckles to himself. “I’d be missing out, but I’d do it. Baby, for you. Come on… give me another chance. You know you want to.” 

I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t stand the way Gale is talking to me, especially in front of Peeta, so I storm away after shoulder-checking him, and burst out of the front door. My eyes feel hot with the onset of tears, but I don’t let myself cry. That’d be stupid. I won’t let Gale get tears from me tonight, or ever again. He doesn’t have that power over me. 

But he made me feel small. In front of my new boyfriend, he diminished me and made me feel like an idiot. Like a sideshow for all those people, he put me on display and cut me down. 

I hate him. I hate him more than I ever thought possible. 

** PEETA **

After Katniss walks out, I follow her with my eyes but not my feet. I hear Madge and Jo discuss whether or not they should go after her, but I don’t see if they do. All I’m concentrated on is Gale, who’s standing there looking smug. Like he’s won. 

I want to say something, but I don’t know what. I don’t want to sound like an idiot, but I want to stick up for her. 

“You didn’t deserve her,” I finally say, and Gale’s eyes rove over to me. 

He raises his eyebrows. “And you do?” he asks mockingly. 

I don’t know how to respond to that, because I’m not sure of the answer. Katniss deserves someone who will be good to her and treat her right, which I know I can do. But she also deserves someone strong and who can protect her, and right now I’m not feeling all too confident in that department. 

I’m silent for too long; my answer never comes. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says, chuckling. I clench and unclench one of my fists, wondering what I’m going to do with it, when he looks at me again. “You know she’s not a virgin, right?” 

His question catches me off-guard. That’s the last thing I expected him to say. “What?” I say.

“Yeah,” he says, gloating. “I was her first. She wasn’t my first, but I took hers. She’s not your little pure Katniss, like you think she is. We’ve fucked before, and it was great. Her body is more amazing than you’ll ever know...all tight and muscular and-” 

“Shut up,” I say, voice low. 

“Ooh, did I strike a nerve?” Gale taunts. “Just giving you a taste of it, because you’ll never get that prude ass in bed. She’s totally reformed, a fuckin’ nun now. I got the only piece of ass she was giving away ‘til she gets married, probably.” 

My chest heaves as I start to breathe heavier. I stare at the ground, eyebrows furrowed, and pull back my hand in preparation to punch him before I feel someone grab my wrist. 

“Peeta, no,” Madge says, eyes warning. “You don’t wanna do that.”

“Why?” I retort. 

“Katniss…” her voice fades. “Just go find Katniss. Okay? He’s not worth it.” Her eyes flit to Gale, who’s scowling like he’d love nothing more than a fight. “Not worth it at all.” 

I lower my arm and shoot Gale the nastiest look I can muster. 

“Fuck you,” I say to him, and walk away before I can dig a hole any deeper.

I follow the path I saw Katniss take and end up in the front yard surrounded by a handful of people scattered around. It’s definitely less populated than the backyard, but I have to look hard before I see her sitting against a tree, knees drawn to her chest as she stares at her fingernails. 

I make my way over slowly, hands in my pockets. Tonight went all wrong. And I just want to make it better, because I can’t stand seeing her upset. 

She notices me before I say anything, craning her neck up to give me a sad smile. 

“Hey,” I say, lowering down to sit next to her. 

“Hey,” she says, hands on her knees. 

We’re quiet for a few moments, just sitting with each other’s presence. 

“I’m sorry about that in there,” she mumbles, obviously ashamed. I hate that she feels that way; I don’t want her to. 

“I almost punched him,” I say. “After you came out here.” 

She looks at me curiously, then with worry. “You didn’t, did you?” she says, sounding panicky. 

“No,” I say. “Madge stopped me."

She sighs. “Good.” She pauses. “He would’ve really had it out for us then.” 

“Me, you mean,” I correct. 

She looks at me, the expression in her eyes reading helpless. She opens her mouth to respond, then closes it again. 

“It’s all my fault,” she says. “I had a feeling they’d be here. I just didn’t think…” Her shoulders deflate and she pulls up a handful of grass only to chuck it away. “It was stupid to come.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” I say. 

“Yeah, it was,” she says back. “I basically threw you to the wolves.” She looks at me solidly. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” 

I nod slightly, watching her hands as they pick apart strands of grass.

“And I…” she says tentatively. “I wanted to talk to you about the fact that…” She sighs, finding it hard to spit out what she wants to say. “What Gale said.” She looks at me, but can’t keep eye contact for long. “It’s true.” 

I search back in my mind through all the shit he threw at us just moments ago. I’m pretty sure I know what she’s talking about, but I don’t want to assume. 

“I’m not a virgin,” she says softly, sounding humiliated. “I-I wish I was. But I’m not.” She rubs her legs. “I slept with Gale because I felt like I had to. It was a long time ago. And that was part of why we broke up, because I wouldn’t do it again. He’d always call me a prude, and other things. Worse things. He always made fun of me for it.” I’m silent as I let her finish. “I just wanted you to know. I don’t want to keep stuff like that from you… I’m not a virgin. Okay?” She pulls her knees closer. “And if you wanna break up, I get it. If you feel like I lied to you-” 

“Stop,” I say, cutting her off. “I don’t care that you’re not a virgin. That’d be… that’d be totally gross if I did.” 

She looks at me with hopeful eyes. The expression is a breath of fresh air compared to what else they’ve been holding. “Really?” she asks, like she’d been prepared for much worse. 

“Yeah,” I say. “But you should know that I… I am.” 

She reaches over and grasps my hand tight, solidifying it with a little shake. “That’s okay,” she says, almost a whisper. “I like that about you.” 

My heart does a little flip. “Really?” I ask, feeling her thumb stroke my skin. 

She nods, eyes twinkling. 

I take in a deep breath, a smile edging onto my face. “Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?” I ask. 

She giggles a little. “Peeta,” she says. “I’m your girlfriend. You don’t have to ask.” 

We leave the party after Jo and Madge deny the ride home, and drive through the quiet streets of Otsego with music softly playing from the radio. Katniss rests one arm on the window with it cracked just slightly, letting the breeze blow her hair which has started to fall out of its messy bun. 

When I pull up into her driveway, her dad’s car is gone like usual. She sighs, moving her lips to one side as she notices the living room light on and the colors from the TV being projected onto the far wall. 

“She better not have a scary movie on,” Katniss grumbles under her breath, then looks at me. “It’s not that late,” she says. “Do you want to come in?” 

My palms sweat. It’s not even 11 yet, and I told my parents I’d be home around midnight. Of course I want to go inside, but I’m nervous. 

But I say, “Sure,” and try to act as nonchalant as I can. 

Katniss leads the way and I watch her body move with the tassels on her flapper dress. What Gale said to me won’t leave my mind:  _ her body is more amazing than you’ll ever know, all tight and muscular…  _

Katniss is athletic, but small. I’ve felt her body when we’ve hugged; tight in the right places and soft in others, and I want to feel more of it. I wet my lower lip as she bends to undo the straps on her heels, then snap out of my trance once she looks back at me. 

“Make yourself at home,” she says, walking through to the living room in her fishnet-covered feet. 

I linger by the door and watch her with her sister, jostling Prim as she sits down on the couch. The little girl was asleep curled into the arm of the couch, Red Riding Hood cape still tied around her neck. Katniss rubs her arm, which makes Prim’s eyes open and blink groggily, disoriented from sleep.

“Hey,” Katniss says softly, her tone of voice so different from the one she uses on everyone else. “It’s late. Let’s get you up to bed.” 

Prim nods and sits up slowly, then leans against her sister’s shoulder. Katniss wraps an arm around her and kisses her temple as she hugs her close. 

“Did you get all the candy you wanted?” she asks.

Prim nods again. “I only ate a few,” she says. 

“Good girl,” Katniss murmurs. “Don’t want a bellyache.” 

Prim glances over at me, and I smile and give her a little wave when her blue eyes meet mine. “You and Peeta can have some,” she says. “But only a little.”

Katniss giggles. “Okay.” 

She takes Prim’s hand and leads her upstairs, and I follow close behind, not wanting to be left alone downstairs in their house. Katniss and Prim’s bedrooms are close together, so I can hear Katniss talking gently as she helps Prim get ready for bed. I sit down on Katniss’s thin mattress and wipe my hands on the thighs of my jeans, waiting for her to return. 

When she comes back, she has a soft look in her eyes. “She was so sleepy,” she says. 

“She waited up for you,” I say. “Good thing we weren’t late.” 

Guilt flashes across her face and she looks at the floor. She lifts her head and I think she’s going to say something about it, but she doesn’t. 

“Do you mind if I change?” she asks. 

“No,” I say. “I’ll turn around. I won’t look.” 

She giggles and shakes her head, but I close my eyes anyway. I hear her rustling around, and when I open my eyes again she’s in a pair of pajama shorts and a mismatching blue t-shirt. Her hair is down around her shoulders, looking more natural than before, and the makeup she had on earlier tonight is mostly worn off. Her lips are back to their normal color, and the bronzer has faded away. Now, she’s just Katniss. The way I like her. 

She sits down next to me on the bed, the scratches her hair. She sighs, then says, “I can’t stop thinking about the stupid shit Gale said.”

Truth is, I can’t either. “Oh,” I say. 

“Are you still thinking about it?”

“No,” I lie, because I don’t want her to think that I care. I really don’t, not for the reasons she’d assume. I care because I can’t stop picturing her body, not because I think she’s tainted because she’s not a virgin.

She sighs again and flops onto her back. “It’s not that I don’t like the idea of sex,” she says. “I just didn’t like it with him.” 

I pinch my lips together, wondering how to respond. I don’t want to say something wrong. “Why?” I ask, benignly. 

She reaches her arms above her head so they fall over the other side of the mattress. “I don’t know,” she says. “He never listened to me. Everything was always just about what he wanted. In different situations than sex, too. I mean, we only did it once.” She groans. “But he was always asking after that. He bragged around, making it sound like we were doing it on the regular. We weren’t. I hated it.” She cringes. “It hurt.” 

“He hurt you?” I say. 

She nods. “He didn’t go slow. I wanted it, I mean… I said yes. But it wasn’t romantic at all. It was stupid and cliche, in the backseat of his car after a football game. In the empty parking lot.” 

“That sounds horrible,” I say. 

“I had leather burns on my ass for a week,” she says, and we both crack up laughing.

She sits up again and looks at me after we stop laughing. “He’s a big guy,” I say. “Wasn’t it cramped?” 

She nods. “So cramped,” she says. “He crushed me the whole time. I’m telling you, it was awful.” 

“Sounds like it,” I say. I want to kiss her so bad, but I don’t know how to initiate it. She told me before that I don’t have to ask, but I don’t know any other way to go about it. It feels wrong to just start kissing her, hands all over. It should be slow and intimate. Romantic. I want to sweep her off her feet in a way she’s never been treated before.

I realize I’m staring at her mouth, because I watch her lips move as she speaks. “I wanna kiss you,” she whispers, inching a little closer to me. 

“I-I’m your boyfriend,” I say, trying to be smooth. It’s not working. “You don’t have to ask.” 

She giggles softly and pushes me onto my back, and I scoot up so my head is on her pillows. Before I know it, she’s resting on my chest with her legs off to one side, smiling at me with those sparkling gray eyes. 

They close as she presses her lips to mine, so I follow suit. Her mouth is soft and warm, and I’ve never felt something quite so good as kissing her. When she opens her mouth and runs her tongue along my lower lip, I lift my arms to circle around the small of her back, holding her closer. 

“Open your mouth,” she murmurs, the side of her nose pressed to mine. “I wanna French kiss you.” 

There is so much feeling coursing through my body, I almost can’t handle it. “I-I… I don’t know if I know how,” I say. Sure, I’ve kissed other girls before, but chastely compared to this. This is the real thing, and I don’t want to do it wrong and look like an idiot. 

“I’ll teach you,” she says, burying her fingers in my hair. Her fingernails on my scalp send chills up my spine, and I open my mouth for her. She slips her tongue inside and touches mine, exploring as I do the same for her. She makes a small noise of approval, and I’ve never felt more self-assured. She lets out a shaky breath as her lips move from mine to my chin, then lower to my jaw, then to my neck, where she pauses. 

I tip my head to the side and feel her tongue over my adam’s apple, and my eyes flutter shut when her lips close around it. I’m more than halfway hard, and I’m not sure what to do about that fact. I don’t want to freak her out, but the way her lips feel on my skin is otherworldly. 

“You taste like cinnamon,” she mutters, mouth moving on my neck. 

I smile softly, and notice when she’s impeded by the neck of my Waldo sweater. 

“Can I take this off?” she asks, sitting up. I notice that a flush has settled on her chest and traveled all the way to the tips of her ears, and wonder what that could mean. I take one thing from it; she’s definitely enjoying this just as much as I am. 

I nod and sit up, then pull my sweater off so I’m just in my undershirt. My heart is pumping a mile a minute right under one of her hands, and I wonder if she notices. 

“What do you taste like?” I ask, feeling bold. 

Her eyes flash. “Find out,” she says, then rolls to lie on her back. 

I’m nervous now. I don’t want to crush her like Gale, but I want nothing more than to get my hands on her. She must notice my tentativeness, because she giggles a little and touches my biceps. “Peeta,” she says. “Stop thinking so much.” 

I meet her eyes and bite my lip. 

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” she says. “I like this. I like you.” She blinks meaningfully. “I trust you.” 

I smile and straddle her lips, loving the way her body feels tucked under mine. She’s not big, but she’s compact and substantial. 

When my lips touch her neck, I get fully hard from the sound she makes. It’s like a high-pitched moan and sigh put together, her hands dancing over the nape of my neck. From the way her body keens under mine, I know I must be doing something right. 

“Is that good?” I ask, just to make sure. 

“Keep going,” she says, pulling my head back down again. “Just touch me.” 

So, I do what I’ve been dreaming about doing for the past couple months. I touch her, and kiss her senseless. I press my lips to the defined line of her collarbone, lower to the V in her shirt, and sneak my hand inside to rest on her stomach. I try to keep my hips lifted so I won’t accidentally poke her with my boner, but I don’t know how successful I’m being in that. 

“Oh, Peeta,” she says, as I kiss the underside of her arms where they lie strewn above her head. “Hold on, hold… hold on.” She wriggles out of her shirt, left in just a white bra and those same shorts.

I’ve never seen this much of a girl before. No less, a girl I have such insane feelings for. 

“Holy shit,” I say. I can’t help it. 

She pulls me lower again and arches her back so her chest lifts up to me. I want nothing more than to take that bra off and expose her, but I won’t. I wouldn’t do that. If she wants to, she will. But she kept the bra on, so I will too. 

“I want you to touch them,” she says. “With your hands, with your mouth, just…” When she looks at me, her eyes are burning with desire. It makes me get even harder, if possible. The fact that she wants me might make my head explode. 

I don’t waste time. I cover her right breast with my hand and squeeze softly, which makes her sigh and close her eyes. I rub my thumb over the center and can feel her nipple hardening, and want so bad for it to be in my mouth. But I won’t. And I’m too shy to ask. 

So I do the next best thing and lower my lips to the swell of her breast that’s spilling from the cup. The skin is pliant and sweet under my tongue, and I can’t resist sucking it between my teeth and pulling away with a ‘pop.’

She laughs breathily. “Marking me, huh,” she says. 

I can’t help it. I move back up to her neck, now knowing what I’m capable of, and leave another hickey in a more visible place. I want Gale to see it. I want him to know what we did. 

Her thighs tighten around one of my legs after I situate our position. She clenches it between them and I can feel the heat from her core radiating onto my skin, and I practically fall over. 

“Oh, Peeta, I-” 

The sound of her door slamming open interrupts her, and before I even know who’s there, I jump off of her and scramble to the head of the bed. 

“Katniss Everdeen!” a female voice shouts. 

Katniss looks just as surprised as I feel. She covers her chest with her arms and stares at the woman with a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and rage. “Mom!” she says. “What are you-” 

“Get this boy out of my house right now,” her mother says. I’ve never seen her mother before, only heard the small amount she’d give me. I know Katniss said she’s sick, but she seems fine to me. Fine enough for me to be terrified of her. “Out! Right now!” 

“I hate you,” Katniss growls at her mother, on the verge of tears.

I shudder at the thought of what would happen to me if I said that to my mom. 

“I can go, I’m going…” I say, hastily pulling on my shirt. “I’ll see you on Mo-” 

“Out!” her mother bellows, and I don’t spend one more second in that room. 


End file.
